


Running Through The Halls

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Genderswap!Bucky Barnes, teacher!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:26:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here at Manhattan Public High School, you'll have the pleasure of being taught by the very best. Tony Stark is the AP Physics teacher, with Peter Parker as his able and willing student teacher. Bruce Banner is right next door, teaching math. In the next wing, you can find Steve Rogers teaching American history, along with Loki Laufeyson teaching European history with his lovely assistant, Darcy Lewis. If you should see fit to wander into the Foreign Languages wing, you'll find Natasha Romanoff, and just around the corner, you'll find yourself in front of Clint Barton's English classroom. On the opposite side of the school, you can see Thor Odinson leading the students in physical exercises. In the front office, Nick Fury reigns over the school, with Vice Principal Coulson herding the unruly children. If you get lost, just sit down in the middle of the hall and scream. Someone will find you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pet, The Partner, and Parker

**Author's Note:**

> Also, thank you to Jay (credulousdame) for editing and giving me ideas.

Tony pushed through the front door of Manhattan Public High School with a flourish, letting it slam against the wall. It was far from the dramatic entrance he was going for, as the halls were empty. Tony took his sunglasses off and wandered through the Math and Sciences wing. One door stood open, and humming drifted out. Tony gasped and burst into the classroom excitedly.

"Bruce!" Tony shouted. "They moved you back?"

Bruce looked up from his laptop. "I was wondering when you'd notice. Fury agreed to move me back on a trial basis. So that means no more joint classes and no more explosions, unless Vice Principal Coulson has cleared it and is present."

Tony collapsed against the side of Bruce's desk. "Yeah, yeah. You never let me play with the good chemicals anyway."

"That's because you steal them from the chemistry lab when you're bored and then test them out in my room. You're a physics teacher, Tony, and I teach math. You aren't supposed to have explosions in your class, however small you thought they'd be," Bruce teased.

Tony made a face. "I need coffee. Can we go get coffee?"

Bruce shut his laptop and followed Tony out into the hall and down to the teacher's lounge. Tony ripped open the door and everyone turned to them, their faces expectant. Thor, the gym teacher, was standing in the corner stretching his arms. His brother, Loki, sat next to him, his nose buried in a book that looked like it was from the fourth century. Natasha, the foreign languages teacher, leaned against the counter, a bright red mug in her hand. Clint stood next to her, a slim novel tucked in his back pocket. And across from Clint stood the gorgeous blond mass that was Steve Rogers.

"Morning, boys and girls!" Tony bellowed. "Are you ready to teach the snottiest children in all of existence?"

"They aren't all bad, Stark," Clint smirked. "You might see that if you stopped trying to blow them up."

Tony threw his hands in the air. "That was one time!"

Natasha passed him a mug. "I hear you've got a student teacher this year. Have you met him yet?"

He shook his head. "No, he'll be here soon. Loki has one, too."

"A young lady," Loki supplied. "She didn't seem too awful on the telephone."

Tony and Clint exchanged a look of terror.

"I think that was a compliment," Clint whispered.

Tony shuddered. "No way in hell. Too creepy."

Natasha glared at them reproachfully. "Come along, Loki. I'll walk you to class and you can introduce me to her."

Loki stood gracefully and they swept out of the room. A few beats after that. the door cracked open and someone stuck their head in.

"Is Mr. Stark in here?" he asked.

Tony straightened. "Present! You must be my new pet. Welcome to hell."

"Tony!" Bruce and Steve squawked in unison.

"What I meant was, you must be Peter Parker, my student teacher," Tony rephrased. "Welcome to Manhattan High. The mother hens are Bruce and Steve. Bruce has the room next door to us. The incredibly buff guy is Thor- one guess as to what he teaches- and shorty is Clint. This is the teacher's lounge. Coffeemaker, fridge, cabinet, table, chair. You get the idea. Let's go to class, Parker."

Peter followed Tony dutifully, looking nervous. Tony unlocked the classroom door an waved Peter toward a second desk at the back of the room. 

"That is your space. Feel free to stab anyone who invades it, unless that person is me," Tony told him. "Today will be easy. I've got a lecture planned, and then a short pre-test. Watch and learn today, because tomorrow's lecture is all up to you."

Peter's jaw dropped open instictively.

Tony laughed. "I'm screwing with you, Parker. Lighten up. You'll just be presenting some of my notes and then arranging the cretins in a seating chart. Think you can handle that?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Stark," Peter nodded.

Tony grimaced. "Oh, please, god call me Tony."

Peter chuckled. "Whatever you say, Tony."

"I like that attitude," Tony observed. "Keep that attitude. It will suit you well in my classroom, especially when I abandon you to fend for yourself."

 

"Mr. Laufeyson, who is she?" A female student piped up midway through his introduction lecture.

Loki looked up and caught the eye of the curvy brunette perched on the corner of his desk, watching him pace the front of the room.

"Oh, yes, I nearly forgot. This is my student teacher, Ms. Lewis. You will treat her well, or I will make you regret it to the fullest extent of my powers. Understood?" Loki smiled coldly.

Everyone nodded quickly. They may have been snotty, stubborn, little brats, but they did have some sense of self-preservation. This particular class was all seniors, many of them looking like they planned to sleep until graduation. One of these such seniors was sitting directly in front of Darcy Lewis, his eyes fixed to the pale legs stretching out from the hem of her knee length black skirt. Darcy felt him leering and sat up straighter, fixing a glare on him. His eyes never left her lower half. Darcy reached behind her blindly, coming up with a sheet of paper. She crumpled it in her hand and lobbed it at the creep, catching him square in the nose. He flinched, knocking hisbinder to the ground with a loud smack.

Loki paused. "Is there a problem, Mr. Stewart?"

""No. No problem," he mumbled, ducking his head.

"And will you be apologizing to Ms. Lewis?" Loki prodded roughly.

The kid's face was flaming. "Sorry."

Loki cleared his throat loudly.

He winced. "I'm sorry, Ms. Lewis."

"Right then," Loki continued. "Thanks to Mr. Stewart, you all have earned your first assignment. I want a four to six page essay on sexism in the Middle Ages. You have two days, and I'd like at least twelve references, with a final summary of how sexism then is relevant to sexism now. That itself should be no shorter than three full pages. If I deem your essay unfit for my standards, or you fail to write the essay, you present it verbally to Ms. Lewis and I during your lunch period, and if the presentation lasts less than fifteen minutes, you will start over the next day."

The class room was silent. The look of absolute terror on the faces of his students warmed Loki's heart. Darcy was trying not to laugh.

 

Meanwhile, just a few rooms over, Steve was introducing himself to his American History class.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Mr. Rogers. Today I want to get an idea of what you already know and what I can expect to spend a bit more time on. It's like a trivia game. I'll read off the questions, if you have the answer, you know the drill. Oh, and the books you'll be using throughout the year are on your desks. Please take them with you when you leave."

And so it began, with Steve very quickly realizing that, if the response of his class was to be believed, he was lucky they knew how to spell America. A painful twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door and Principal Fury stepped in, followed by a girl with long, wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and pink cheeks. For once, Principal Fury was actually smiling. It was rather frightening.

"Mr. Rogers, excuse me for interrupting your class, but I wanted to deliver this young lady here personally. This is Becca Barnes. Her father and I were in the service together, and worked together in D.C. up until I started here. Her family's just moved to Manhattan a couple of weeks ago, and I promised to get her all set up. She won't cause you much trouble, unless you get on her bad side," Fury winked his one good eye and turned to leave.

Steve offered a bright smile to the new girl. "Becca, I'm Mr. Rogers. Go ahead and take that empty chair in front of my desk. We're going a general review of what we know, so just raise your hand if you know the answer."

Becca nodded her understanding and slid into the seat, tucking her grey skirt underneath her. For the next fifteen minutes, she raised her hand to answer every question Steve posed, even when he started veering off into lesser known areas. Steve found himself grabbing for obscure historical events, just in the hopes he could get the better of her. By the end of the hour,  Steve was pretty sure he was going to get along with her just fine. He was not alone in this opinion. When he joined his friends in the lounge for lunch, Natasha proudly mentioned a girl named Becca who was proficient is both Russian and French, and passable in Spanish, German, and Latin. Tony excitedly told them all about "that Barnes chick" who understood and giggled at his physics jokes.

"I've got her next hour for Creative Writing," Clint said between bites of an apple.

Steve looked up from his food. "I had her this morning. She's smart as a whip. She knew every question I could think of. Plus she managed to impress both Tony and Natasha on her first day. There hasn't even been a teacher who has achieved that."

"Parker, take a note!" Tony ordered suddenly.

Peter looked up, startled, his sandwich halfway to his mouth. He glanced around the room.

"Make a note that she is my favorite. No one ever laughs at my physics jokes. Therefore, I have decided she's my favorite, and I want her in the front row so we can appreciate each others' intelligence. Make another note that I should move Wexlar's desk into the hallway permanently," Tony added.

"Hey, Loki, where's your student teacher? She didn't show?" Clint asked.

Loki glanced up from his book, looking disoriented. "In the classroom. She said something about decorating."

Clint nearly choked on his apple. "She's decorating your room? You're letting her decorate your room? Oh, I have to meet this girl/"

The bell rang, sending them all scattering to their separate classrooms, ready to teach the masses of Manhattan.

 

Three hours later, Clint swung his door shut and started toward the parking lot. He nooded at Thor as he passed the gym and did the same to Bruce after they crossed paths. When he hit the Social Studies wing, he stopped dead in his tracks. Someone was singing. Not only that, but someone was singing Billy Joel. That was Clint's fucking  _jam_. He followed the voice past Steve's empty room, past Mrs. Robinson's closed door, and into Loki's room. There was a short girl with dark brown hair standing on top of the bookshelf that was against the back wall. Her shoes had been left on the cold tile floor and she stretched up onto her toes, pressing a poster onto the wall. Clint leaned agaisnt the door frame and crossed his arms.

"So 'Captain Jack', huh?" he asked.

The girl jumped in surprise. "Motherfucking shit!" She dropped down onto the floor and put a hand to her throat. "Jesus, you scared the living shit out of me!"

Clint bit back his laughter. "I'm sorry about that. I'm Clint Barton. I teach English and some of the writing courses."

She took his hand and shook it. "Darcy Lewis, student teacher. Loki and Natasha warned me about you."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Oh? That takes the fun out of torturing you."

"Well if you won't be torturing me, how about you help me hang these babies up?" Darcy patted the stack of posters.

Clint unbuttoned the wrists of his shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. "I think I can manage that. I'll still be torturing you, by the way."

Darcy climbed back onto the bookcase. "Bring it, bitch."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

Based on [this](http://montypythonandtheholyblog.tumblr.com/post/25268854265/au-where-all-the-avengers-are-teachers-tonys) prompt on tumblr.

 


	2. NEVER Read The Cucumber Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, the rest of the week flew by. There was only one fist fight in the halls that ended up dissolving before any of the teachers could jump in to break it up. Two boys were suspended for drinking beer behind the shop supply shed, and one girl announced her pregnancy, and days later, her new boyfriend. Overall, it was a slow week for Manhattan Public High School.

Surprisingly, the rest of the week flew by. There was only one fist fight in the halls that ended up dissolving before any of the teachers could jump in to break it up. Two boys were suspended for drinking beer behind the shop supply shed, and one girl announced her pregnancy, and days later, her new boyfriend. Overall, it was a slow week for Manhattan Public High School. Steve did manage to send sixteen students to the office for using profanity and/or texting in class. Darcy successfully pegged a kid in the back row with a paper ball while sitting at Loki's desk. She was very proud. Natasha and Tony were salivating over their prized student, and Bruce was already starting to offer after school tutoring. Peter shockingly seemed to be grasping Tony's helter skelter teaching method, and had even begun creating his own presentations and lectures for class. Thor was enjoying his classes and football practices. So much so that he had specially requested that his friends come to see the first football game of the season that Friday. That is why they were all sitting in the stands, spread out among three rows in the upper corner, watching the Manhattan Mavericks drive the Brookefield Bears into the ground- literally.

"Oh my god!" Clint yelled. "Oh, Jesus. That ankle is totally broken. Don't touch it, you idiot! What are they doing? That kid is in my second period and he just broke that poor guy's ankle! I can never look at him the same way again."

Natasha patted his shoulder distractedly, watching the injured Bear being loaded onto a stretcher and carted off to a hospital. Tony stretched out on the row above them, fiddling with his phone and leaning against Bruce's side. Steve sat on the other side of Clint, paying more attention than anyone else to the actual game. Darcy sat between Loki and Peter on the bench below theirs, keeping a running commentary on the student section.

"See that girl in the bright blue sports bra?" Darcy nudged Peter. "She's dating the quarterback. Last year, he cheated on her with that guy in the black t-shirt. Apparently, she was cheating on him with the same guy. Now that is what I call a fun mistake. Your boring ass date nights just became an inevitable threeway."

Peter pointed out a girl with shorts the size of a napkin. "She's in my fourth period. She and here friend sit right in front of my desk. They talked about their home cures for yeast infections all hour yesterday. I can never again eat garlic."

Darcy laughed hysterically. "We can't be the only ones who notice these things. Hey, Clint?"

"Yeah?" He looked down at her.

"Peter and I are sharing stories about students that we overhear," she explained. "Do you have any?"

Clint gave her a look. "I'm an English teacher. The shit they find okay to share in an essay is astounding. I had this one guy who, in graphic detail, described the surgical removal of a cucumber from his anal cavity after it slipped just a little out of his reach during sex. It was eight pages long. After the first paragraph, I started doing shots."

"That is horrifying," Darcy giggled.

Natasha spoke up. "I had a student once who was taking Korean, and swore he understood everything I said in Latin, but he couldn't really speak the language, and he had no idea how to write it. I gave him a piece to memorize and told him that if he could learn the piece and recite it for me the way it was supposed to be recited, I would attest to the fact that he was fluent in Russian, and he wouldn't have to take any other foreign language classes. A couple of days later, I had him recite it in front of my Russian students. He did it, too. Everything was said perfectly, his accent was impeccable, and he delivered it beautifully. I failed him, and he begged the counseling office to move him to gym."

Darcy and Peter exchanged a "she's a psycho" look. "Why did you fail him if he did it perfectly?"

"It was porn!" Clint burst out. "She gave him Russian porn and he read it in front of the entire class. I was there! He looked so proud of himself until Nat started translating it."

"I proved that he didn't understand. I gave him a piece that was in the wrong language, which he didn't realize, and didn't bother to translate. So he ended up reading Russian porn to a classroom of students who knew exactly what he was saying when he was clueless," Natasha explained with a wicked grin.

Darcy cackled, covering her mouth with her hand. Peter shook his head, grinning appreciatively.

"Hey, we won!" Clint announced. "That's good. Now I can go home and sleep until Monday morning."

"Amen to that!" Darcy high fived him.

Tony stood. "Hey, Steve, are you still volunteering tomorrow, or is that next weekend?"

"Next weekend," Steve answered. "I thought we were going to that new art exhibit tomorrow?"

Tony clapped his hands together. "That's what it was! Natasha, are you still in?"

She shrugged. "When do I ever say no? Anyone else interested?"

"Hell no," Clint muttered.

Peter scrambled for a reply. "Things...laundry...grading."

Bruce mentioned something about a trip to a lab upstate. Loki declined, rather politely for him. They all looked at Darcy.

"I plan to be half naked and drunk, or half naked and eating ice cream from the carton while watching Netflix. So I'm going to go with no, but thanks for the invite," she decided.


	3. The Chapter Where Tony and Nat Fangirl Over A Teenager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony, Steve, and Natasha take a trip to the art museum and run into someone they know.

Saturday afternoon turned out to be rainy and cold, the perfect excuse to spend it inside gawking at the wonderful art that decorated the halls of the museum galleries. Since no sane person ever really drives in Manhattan, Steve caught a cab and met Tony and Natasha in the museum cafe. They had claimed a comfortable little booth and were sipping coffee and had a third cup waiting for him when he sat down.

"So where do we want to start?" Tony asked.

Natasha set down her cup. "They have a new exhibit on Greek art that I want to see. There's also the new exhibit on Imperialist era art on the third floor."

Tony nodded. "And the usual for you, big guy? Domestic art."

"Yes, please," Steve smiled. "What about you?"

"Van Gogh," Tony murmured reverently.

Natasha grabbed his wrist in a flash of movement, startling both men. "Tony, _look."_

Tony followed her gaze and gasped. "My future adopted child!"

"Excuse me?" Steve stared at them like they'd morphed together and grown a third head.

Natasha tore her eyes away briefly. "Becca Barnes is here. She's alone, too. We should go say hello. Come on, boys."

Tony didn't have to be asked twice. He knocked his chair over in the process of leaping up to race Natasha.. Steve hesitated a beat longer before joining them.

" _Bonjour,_ Becca," Natasha laid a light hand on the girl's shoulder.

She turned, surprised. " _Bonjour, Madame._ Hello, Mr. Stark, Mr. Rogers."

"What are you here for?" Tony gestured to the museum in general.

"Nothing specific. I'm just browsing," Becca responded. "Though I did want to check out their American art gallery."

Tony chuckled. "You and Blondie both."

Natasha glanced around. "You aren't here alone, are you?"

Becca nodded, her smile dropping. "My dad's at a conference in Washington until next Friday, and my mom's in Virgina until the day after he gets back. So I'm left to my own devices."

"Then you should join us," Tony suggested. "We can't let a poor, innocent new girl roam the halls of this deadly museum alone."

"When you put it that way, how could I say no," Becca sighed complacently.

Tony and Natasha took the lead, arguing over the best method of working their way through the exhibits. The wide halls of the lobby area narrowed so that it could only accommodate two people walkind shoulder to shoulder. Becca fell back to walk with Steve, her fingers playing with a key chain on her shoulder bag. Steve glanced down at her. watching the amused turn of her lip as Natasha started speaking to Tony in Russian.

"What is she saying?" Steve asked, keeping his voice low.

Becca grinned. "She just said he had the intelligence of a slaughtered mule, and then she insulted his facial hair."

"His facial hair?" Steve laughed. "It's a good thing Tony doesn't speak Russian, or we'd have a meltdown to deal with."

“Natasha! Stop it! I hate it when you do that! I swear to god, I will throw a fit. I will go into full toddler tantrum mode, _I have no shame, woman!_ ” Tony hissed.

Natasha ignored whatever Tony was insisting upon and pushed open the door to the American art gallery. They settled into a comfortable silence, drifting apart and finding each other again as different pieces caught their eyes. Steve was almost through the sixties when he noticed that Becca was gone, and the last time he remembered seeing her was somewhere around 1923. He retraced his steps, leaving Tony and Natasha to continue on into the seventies. He found Becca in the fourties, amid post-war, life-is-good, kiss-me-I'm-home-again art. As he walked up, she sniffled and dragged her sleeve across her eyes. Steve's heart dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his knees when he realized she was crying.

"That's one of my favorites," Steve offered quietly, pointing to a photograph of a young couple sobbing in each other's arms on a pier, an American flag waving a few feet above their heads.

Becca looked up, startled and tried to cover her red eyes. "Oh, it's you. Sorry, I lost track of time. I didn't realize I'd lost you guys."

"It's okay. We all get caught up in the art at some point," Steve assured her.

Becca looked away, back to the wall of happy young people.

"Are you all right?" Steve asked softly.

She stared hard at the wall and nodded. Her lip trembled and her face crumpled. She covered her face with her hands and her shoulders shook. Steve moved closer, alarmed, but unsure what to do with a crying teenage girl. He settled for wrapping an arm around her shoulder and they stood like that for a couple of minutes until Becca straightened and wiped her eyes.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that."

"Hey, you were upset. It was a perfectly normal reaction," Steve said, still worried about her.

Becca looked like she thought he was just trying to make her feel better, but she gave him a sad smile anyway.

"Do you want to talk about whatever it is that caused this?" he asked her gently.

She shook her head quickly. "No. It's in the past. I don't need to think about it, and I don't need to dump it on my history teacher. Thank you, for caring. And, please, could you not mention this to Mr. Stark or Ms. Romanoff?"

Steve dropped his arm and gave her a reassuring smile. "Of course not."

"There you are!" Tony rounded the corner. "I can’t be with this woman anymore, Steve! She’s driving me insane. Take her away from me. I want the teenager now. My turn!”

“Tony, she isn’t a possession,” Natasha drawled from behind him.

He whirled around. “Stand back, heathen!”

Natasha reached out and shoved him.

“Oh! Oh no! It touched me! Oh, god, I can feel the communism seeping into my veins! Help me, Steve!” Tony begged.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Oh, grow up. I find that offensive, by the way.”

“You find all of my good jokes offensive, Commie,” Tony dismissed her. “Now, are you ready for Van Gogh?”

Natasha  "If not, I highly recommend the Imperialist gallery upstairs."

Steve looked down at Becca. "Imperialism or impressionism?"

"Tough voice. I'm partial to Van Gogh, but who doesn't love a good portrait of Catherine the Great?" Becca answered seriously, the smallest glint of mockery in her eyes.

"Van Gogh it is!" Tony turned on his heel and marched away, giving Natasha a wide berth.

Steve chuckled and cast a glance at the teenage girl walking next to him, wondering that it was that made her cry in the middle of an art museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should warn you all that I don't usually update this often, but I have six chapters typed up and edited. So have another chapter as an apology for inevitably not updating for a month at some point in time.


	4. Banana, Tony, BANANA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was Monday and Darcy was way too hungover for this shit.

It was Monday and Darcy was way too hungover for this shit. She'd showered twice this morning, which seemed to erase the stench of vodka she'd woken up with. After nearly breaking a hip trying to put on a dress, she'd decided it was a casual day and tugged on her darkest jean, topping it off with a purple sweater, a ponytail, and half a stick of deodorant. In the kitchen, she forced down a cup of coffee and her college roomate's hangover cure- a lemon slice with a little bit of honey and a pinch of sugar. She somehow managed to drag herself to the car and drive to school. Once there, she stumbled her way into the teacher's lounge with her sunglasses on and collapsed in a chair. By some miracle, she was the only one there. After making sure she wasn't absurdly late and missing class, she crossed her arms, laid her head down, and passed back out.

Clint opened the door, whistling brightly and froze. Natasha stepped around him and went straight for the coffee pot, smiling fondly at Darcy's sleeping form. Clint sat down across from Darcy and stared at her like she was a new creature from an undiscovered planet. Loki was the next one through the door, and he paused only a moment at seeing Darcy before he went to the fridge and produced a bottle of water. He set it and a couple of asprin in front of her and nudged her gently. When that didn't work, he kicked the leg of her chair with a jolt.

"Ffffuck," she moaned.

"Drink," Loki ordered.

Darcy lifted her head enough to swallow the pills and a third of the water before groaning and dropping her head back to the table, all this with her eyes squeezed shut.

Tony burst in with his usual amount of ridiculous energy for that time of the morning and looked down at Darcy. "Hungover or still drunk?"

"Never drinking again," Darcy mumbled.

Tony grinned. "Hungover. Here. For you, my dear."

He dropped a white paper bag in front of her. She opened the bag and pulled out a gigantic Gatorade and a donut. Darcy stared at them blankly.

"Gatorade to hydrate you," Tony explained slowly. "Donut for a sugar boost and because they're delicious."

Darcy turned to him. "Bless you. Bless your soul. Bless your face. Bless your goatee."

Loki rolled his eyes and helped Darcy to her feet. "Come along, Ms. Lewis. Let's get you settled in at my desk before you fall asleep again."

"Does that require walking?" Darcy moaned.

In one swift motion, Loki had Darcy over his shoulder and was walking out of the lounge.

"Wait!" Darcy commanded, and Loki stopped. 

Tony handed her the Gatorade and donut.

"Okay, carry on," Darcy waved to the other teachers as Loki rounded a corner.

Tony shook his head. "She's going to give me gray hair."

"Who is?" Peter asked, entering the lounge.

"Your female counterpart," Tony replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "Are you ready for your big day? Guys, Peter is in charge of his own class today."

Peter looked panicked. "What? I thought I was just giving the lecture!"

Tony grinned. "Sink or swim, Parker. What'll it be?"

Peter looked like he might be considering bolting for his car.

"Relax, I'll be right next door. I'll hear it if a fight breaks out. Oooh! We can use a safe word. If you need me, just yell banana, and I'll come help,"  Tony promised.

"Banana," Peter mumbled.

"Just like that," Tony nodded.

 

"Tony, you really should be in there with him," Bruce murmured.

Tony sat next to him behind his desk and watched the students bubbling in answers. "Where's the fun in that? If I sit in here while he teaches my class, it's a win win. He gets the experience, I get a break. You're more fun anyway. And he did fine first hour."

Bruce shushed him. "If you're in here, you won't get to see you're favorite student."

Tony shot him a look. "I'll see her tomorrow."

"Natasha mentioned that you ran into her at the museum this weekend?" Bruce pulled out a stack of homework and a blue marking pen.

"Yeah. Poor kid was all alone this weekend. Her parents are out of town all week, and it seemed like that was the way things usually were," Tony whispered, taking half of Bruce's stack.

"Banana!" Tony heard through the wall.

A couple of students looked up, confused. Tony gestured for them to ignore it and went back to grading, feeling Bruce's eyes on him. It was only after the third time that Bruce nudged him.

"Tony, go help the poor kid," Bruce begged.

Tony stood at the same time Bruce's door swung open violently. "Mr. Stark, there's a fight! They knocked out Mr. Parker. Come quick!"

"Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me!" Tony ran past him, bursting into his classroom.

Two boys the size of Mack trucks were duking it out in the middle of the room. A couple of other guys had dragged Peter to the front of the room, where they were trying to revive him, looking freaked out of their minds. Tony relaxed just slightly when Peter sat up, shaking his head and touching his cheek gingerly. Then he remembered the fight.

"Break it up!" Tony shouted. "You've got three seconds before I call in Coach Odinson!"

The boys ignored him. One of them grabbed the other by the hair and pushed him to the ground, pummeling him with his fists. Tony surged into action, pushing through the students on the outskirts of the desks. By the time he battled his way through, he could tell someone else had joined the fray. To his complete shock, it was Becca. She wasn't fighting. She was standing between them. They were apparently above hitting girls, so every time one went for the other, Becca shifted to stop the blow. From what Tony could tell, it was working for her, and she was speaking to them.

"Ben, back off," she was saying. "Whatever Tommy did or didn't do isn't worth the punishment you'll get for revenge. You're both already probably suspended. Don't make it any worse. Look, boys. In the past thirty seconds, four teachers have come running in the room. You could definitely take me, but do you really think you can take Mr. Stark, Mr. Banner, Mr. Rogers, Coach Odinson,  _and_ Ms. Lewis? I mean, come on. Your odds are terrible. So back off. Both of you. Go to separate corners or something."

Amazingly, they listened. Ben backed up until he hit the window, holding his hands up in surrender. Tommy leaned back against the opposite wall, looking ashamed. Becca stepped away and Thor grabbed Tommy by the shoulder, dragging him out into the hallway. Bruce gave them time to make it to the office before doing the same with Ben. Tony told everyone to go into Bruce's room while he straightened up the room and helped Peter. Becca immediately started straightening desks and shoving books back into their places on the shelves. Steve stooped to help her.

"You don't have to help, Becca, you can go with your classmates. You helped us out a lot already," Steve told her.

Becca shrugged. "They were going to kill each other. I had brothers once, who fought like that. If you don't break it up, something ends up broken."

Steve wondered about her choice of words, but the thoughts were replaced when Becca turned her head and he caught sight of the left side of her face."Oh my god!"

Tony, who had helped Peter to his feet and apologized four times already, looked over. "What is it?"

Steve tugged Becca to her feet. "Look at her face."

Becca tried to turn her head, but Tony moved with the motion. "Jesus Christ, kid."

"They got in a punch or two before they realized it was me,"  Becca shrugged.

Steve was trying to examine the already blackening bruise, but Becca kept moving her head to avoid his gaze. "Hey. Hold still so I can look, okay? I want to make sure nothing's broken."

Becca sighed but held still. "Nothing's broken. Doesn't hurt when I bite down, I can breathe normally, I don't feel boneshards on my eyeball."

Steve touched her cheekbone lightly and she hissed, pulling away.

"Nothing's broken, huh?" Tony smirked unhappily.

Becca ignored him. "Are you okay, Mr. Parker?"

"Yeah. They barely grazed me. I tripped over a desk leg, and everyone apparently thought I got knocked out," Peter mumbled.

Tony patted him on the back. "I'm really sorry about that, Parker. If I actually thought there was any chance of a fight starting, I wouldn't have left you alone."

"Stay right here," Steve instructed Becca before leaving the room.

Tony came to sit next to her. "That was incredibly stupid of you."

Becca nodded warily. "I know. 'You're a girl, you shouldn't be wading into fights with guys twice your size.' This isn't the first time I've broken up a fight. It happens. Better they land a good one on me than knock out a teacher, eh?"

"No," Tony replied. "You could've been hurt really badly. Though, don't get me wrong, I do appreciate what you did. If this happens again, please, for the love of everything good and alcoholic, stay out of it. Scream at them from behind a bookcase or something."

Becca laughed, then winced, tearing up. "Ouch."

Steve returned and stood in front of Becca. "Tilt your head up."

Becca did as she was told and she felt the cold pressure of an ice pack on her cheek. "Aahhh."

Tony chuckled. "We've got five minutes left in the hour. Who do you have next, Becca? Romanoff?"

Becca nodded as best she could.

Tony went to his phone and dialed Natasha's room number.

"Hello?" she answered briskly.

"Hey, Natasha, it's Tony. There was a fight in my room, and Becca took a bitch of a haymaker to the cheek. I'm going to let her crash here since I've got prep next hour," Tony explained. "Is that okay with you?"

"Is she okay?" Natasha demanded.

Tony glanced over at Becca and Steve. "I think so. She might have a fractured cheekbone."

"She needs to go to the hospital," Natasha ordered. "I can get a sub in here after next hour and take her. Keep her in your room with ice on it. Don't let her sleep, just in case she has a concussion."

"Shouldn't we call her parents?" Tony asked.

"You heard her," Natasha sighed. "They're both hours away. I'll call them from the hospital. I'm sure Fury will be in to check on her at some point."

Tony hung up the phone and joined Becca again. "Here's the deal, Barnes. Rogers and I have prep next hour, so you're hanging out with us. After next hour, Romanoff is getting a sub and you're going to the hospital to check out your cheek. You have two options here: You can get it over with and we'll take you now, or you can wait for Ms. Romanoff and live in dread for an hour."

Becca pushed the ice pack away to stare at him. "That sounded full of doom and terror."

Tony wagged his eyebrows. "What'll it be?"

Becca grimaced and let Steve put the ice pack back on. "I might as well get this over with."

 

After clearing it with a shockingly motherly and pissed off Fury, Steve and Tony drove Becca to the hospital, where, thanks to Fury's call ahead, someone was waiting for them. After a while, a nurse came back and went through the plethora of questions they always demand of patients. The nurse got to the last few and glanced up at the two men uncertainly, before flicking her gaze back to Becca.

Becca rolled her eyes. "Oh, Jesus. My last period was the eighteenth of last month, no drugs, no alcohol, no tobacco. No, I'm not pregnant, yes, I know you're still going to test it. Anything else?"

The flustered nurse jotted the information down on the chart and instructed Becca to follow her for an X-ray. She returned a few minutes later, pleased when Tony handed her a chocolate shake.

"Hmm. I'm gonna get punched in the face more often," Becca teased.

Tony put a hand to his heart. "Please, no. My heart can't take it. Between you and Darcy Lewis, I feel like a father. And it is terrifying."

Becca laughed. "Okay, I'll try not to get punched in the face more than once a month."

The doctor returned with the X-ray results and confirmed that there was a break in the cheekbone, but luckily it was very small, and hardly displaced at all. The bruising would go away in a week or two, and there shouldn't be any permanent damage. They discharged her and they were on their way within an hour.

Tony's phone rang as he slid behind the wheel of the car. "Hey, Fury. Hairline fracture, barely displaced. She'll be back to normal in a couple of weeks...Yeah? Lucky her. Does she need a babysitter? Hey, I'm responsible, too....Since when am I the detention teacher? Yeah, fair enough. I'll be there soon." He dropped the phone in his lap. "Good news, kiddo. You get the rest of the day off, and lucky Ms. Romanoff is going to hang out with you, make sure you don't, I don't know, break your other cheekbone or something. We're going to drop you off and then we have to head back to school. Guess who pulled detention duty for a week?"

Steve shifted in his seat and met Becca's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Hmmm," she pretended to think. "Mr. Barton."

"Oh, god, I wish. I think he actually has fun in detention," Tony shuddered.

"Must be Mr. Rogers, then," Becca decided.

She winked at him in the mirror and Steve laughed.

Tony shook his head. "You are terrible at this game."

 


	5. Jump! Jump! Jump!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony is an awful human being and Steve stirs up some historical bad blood.

            “We’re watching a movie?” Peter asked, confused.

            Tony nodded, his back turned as he put the coffee pot back in place.

            Peter did a mental search of a movie that both Tony and the AP Physics course would deem acceptable. “Which movie?”  
            “ _Titanic_ ,” Tony announced.

            “What?” Peter’s eyes widened. “What does that have to do with physics?”

            Tony started out the door. “Nothing, but I was up all night working on the prototype for a Stark security system and I didn’t want to teach. I’ll tell them to…I don’t know, diagram a better design.”

            “You can do that? Just show a movie and take a nap?” Peter followed Tony.

            He shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. I don’t know. I’m doing it today, so. Yeah, we’ll go with that. I’m skipping to the fun part anyway.”

            Tony unlocked his door and strode to the projector, dropping off his coffee at the front of the room. He crouched next to the cart and fiddled with the controls.

            “Hey, Tony?”

            He looked up and spotted Steve leaning in the doorway. “Hey, Rogers! How’s it going?”

            “Not too bad, thanks. I was wondering if I could borrow Peter for first hour? I’m staging a debate and I think I need another person to keep everyone in check,” Steve explained.

            Tony glanced at Peter, who shrugged. “Sure. Though he will be missing my famous movie day.”

            Steve shuddered. “Thanks, Tony. Come on, Peter, you can thank me later. We need to get the room split up before kids start coming in.”

            Peter struggled to keep up with Steve’s long strides. “Split up the room?”

            Steve noticed Peter’s struggle and slowed down. “The left half of the room will seat the students representing the Patriots. The right half of the room will seat the students representing the Loyalists.”

            “A Revolutionary War debate? That actually sounds kind of fun,” Peter laughed. “How are you choosing teams?”

            Steve pushed open his door. “I’ve got a jar of toothpicks. Half of them have red tips. Those ones mean they’re on the side of the Patriots. The plain ones mean they’re Loyalists.”

            Peter and Steve yanked and pushed the desks around, isolating two in the front of the room and leaving a wide aisle down the middle. Steve glanced at the clock and took up his place at the door, jar in hand. As students began trickling in, Peter directed them to their seats and collected their toothpicks, fielding questions about why he’d left Mr. Stark.

            “Oh, I think he can manage on his own for an hour. He’s mostly house trained,” Peter teased, knowing Tony would laugh when it reached him.

            A couple of minutes before the bell rang, Becca came stumbling down the hall, looking like she’d stopped a truck with her face.

            Steve grimaced and held out the jar. “Good morning.”

            Becca whimpered. “Oh, god. Is it really that bad?”

            “No, no!” Steve tried to assure her. “You can barely tell.”

            Becca sighed glumly. “Ow.”

            Steve jangled the jar. “Pick one. It’ll make you feel better.”

            Becca gave him an uncertain look and drew a toothpick with a scarlet tip. “It didn’t work.”

            “Yes, but you’re an injured Patriot. Vent your frustrations in the debate,” Steve suggested, sympathy swelling for the girl.

            Becca took a deep breath, visibly bracing herself, and strode into the room.

            Peter held out the collection jar absently. “Hey, Bec- holy crap! I mean, um, y-you’re a red, right? Left side.”

            Peter shot Steve an astonished look, his eyes widening at Becca’s retreating form. Steve pulled a face before surveying the room. The sides looked to be about even. He called the class to attention and gave the guidelines. He told each side to pick a representative to begin the debate, though they could change that person at any time. A low murmur rose amongst the two sides of the room. Peter moved over to a stool by the window. He was keeping score. Steve sat behind his desk with his notes for the debate. A minute or two passed, and both chairs at the front had been filled. The Loyalists were represented by Jason Marion, and the Patriots by Becca.

            Steve stood. “All right, here’s how it’s going to work. I’ll give a topic or question that each person must respond to. You’ll have a set amount of time, and Mr. Parker will be enforcing that time limit. If you go over, you lose points. If your team goes over more than four times, you lose all points. Same goes for interrupting your opponent. Any questions?”

            A boy with shaggy red hair raised his hand. “What time period can we use for defense?”

            “Anything up to the end of the war,” Steve answered. “Our first topic will be taxation. Jason will have the floor first. Jason, you have two minutes.”

            Jason sat up straighter, the arrogance practically dripping off of his upturned nose. “We Loyalists believe that we are rightly being taxed by the Great Britain and the king. We are their subjects, to be ruled as they see fit. As citizens, we should be honor bound to pay these taxes without complaint for the exchange of protection and our rights. Patriots disagree with this sentiment because they have no such loyalty to the crown, and no respect for all the king has done for us.”

            Steve waited for him to continue. “Uh, Jason? You still have a minute.”

            “I don’t need it,” Jason sneered at Becca.

            Becca cleared her throat. “Jason appears to be misinformed. Patriots are far from unloyal to the crown. In fact, we completely accept their rule. All we want is a say in the law making body that governs us. We also refuse to accept that the debt of Great Britain is our burden to bear. The king started a war with France, and the colonies were dragged into it. We didn’t ask for British troops to flood into our lands, confiscating any supplies they thought necessary, and picking fights, so we don’t believe that we should be any more responsible for the debt that the citizens residing in the mother country. We’re glad to pay taxes, so long as they’re reasonable and we have some say in it.”

            Peter looked up from his stopwatch. “One point to Jason. One to Becca for a quick response, one for a valid rebuttal, and another for illegitimizing part of Jason’s statement.”

            Steve tallied this on the board. “Good start. For your first questions, I’d like each of you to tell me why you think the other side is wrong. One minute each, and you’ll respond to the other side’s argument.”

            Jason fidgeted. “The Patriots are wrong because…uh, they think they don’t need the crown. They do need the crown. The crown directs them every day of their lives. The crown dictates how and what they do, and they have to abide by the laws or face serious consequences. The colonists should give in. It would be nearly impossible to overpower the force that is the British Empire.”

            “I disagree. We aren’t directly ruled by the king. Laws and decrees take months to reach the colonies. We are separated by an ocean. Not even the fist of the King of England and reach that far. No power could withstand that distance for very long and maintain its hold. And because the crown cannot constantly watch over the colonies, it was actually rare to receive punishments for violating the decrees issued by Great Britain. Essentially, the colonies have been on their own for a while.”

            Peter nodded and held up two fingers. “One for Jason, one for Becca.”

            “Ms. Barnes, your stance,” Steve called over his shoulder, adding the points to the board.

            “I believe that the Loyalists are wrong because they are under the impression that they, realistically, have no choice in the matter. It’s true that Great Britain is powerful, and that it would do a great deal to keep its hold on the colonies, but they are not invincible. They believe that the only way to be a true and faithful subject is to submit to every word the kind utters. You can disagree with the king or the government and still love your country, still be a loyal citizen,” Becca stressed.

            Jason stammered. “But, y-you can’t. You can’t just disagree and still be loyal. It doesn’t fit together. It’s an oxymoron!”

            Jason’s shoulders slumped. His side of the room groaned mutinously and Steve held up a hand. “No points will be awarded for that rebuttal. I’m guessing you’d like another representative?”

            A noise very much like a snarl was the response he got. Steve turned back to the board and caught Becca’s eye. He winked and she smiled proudly, ignoring the twinge in her cheek.

           

            “Are you sure you don’t need me to stick around for the rest of your classes?” Peter asked as students began filing out of the room.

            Steve held the door open. “No, I can handle it. You’re welcome to stay if you need to hide from Tony, though.”

            Peter made a face. “No, I should go check in with him. Make sure he hasn’t passed out on the keyboard again. Hey, Becca!”

            She paused at the door. “Yeah?”

            “Would you mind coming with me to grab the study guides from the copy room? I might need a hand getting them all to the classroom,” Peter explained.

            “No problem, Mr. Parker. I just need to grab my Physics book,” Becca gestured to the hall.

            “You don’t need it. We’re watching _Titanic_ ,” Peter waved her off.

            Becca stared at him before exploding into laughter, her hand going to her bruised cheek. Steve instinctively took a step forward, his hand reaching out. She waved him away.

            “No, no, I’m fine. It just stings when I laugh,” Becca chuckled. “Come on, Mr. Parker. We’re going to be late. Have a good day, Mr. Rogers.”

            Steve watched them go. “You, too.”

           

            “Parker! Barnes!” Tony yelled. “You’re with me at the judges’ table!”

            Peter and Becca shared a worried look before making their way to Tony. He handed them blank sheets of paper and thick black markers.

            “Get ready. I’ve got it cued up to three minutes before the best part!” Tony clicked a button on the remote and collapsed into his chair.

            The movie began and Peter spaced out, thinking about how in the hell he was going to explain all of this to his college friends. His mind wandered wistfully. That is, until Tony sat bolt upright and lost his fucking mind.

            “7.5!” he shouted.

            Peter stared at him. Stared at the screen. Stared at Becca. Stared at Tony again. There was a splash onscreen.

            “5.8!” Becca yelled, catching on.

            “His form was terrible. The belly flop method is not recommended,” Tony agreed. “6.1, tops.”

            Peter went back to the screen. An old man lept from the rail, his hat held in his hands.

            “8.3,” Tony announced.

            Becca grinned. “8.5 for the perfect amount of splash.”

            Peter was slightly appalled, but partly thrilled. “I don’t know, his mouth was open when he hit the water. He’ll sink like a rock. 7.8.”

            Tony shot him an approving look. By this point, most of the room was glancing between the screen and the judges’ table. Peter uncapped his marker, poised for the next jumper. This one was a woman with thick red hair and shabby skirts. She hit the water screaming.

            “6.5!” Peter scrawled it on the paper and held it in the air for all to see.

            Tony followed suit. “7.1!”

            “6.2!” Becca laughed.

            By the end of the hour, the entire class was judging the jumpers.

            Tony had never been prouder of his students than in that moment.

 

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the wait on this chapter. To make up for it, I'm posting the sixth chapter either tonight or tomorrow. Two for one, baby. But, um, yeah. I'm sorry. I love you.  
> *penguin hugs*


	6. The Curious Case of the Fruit Fucker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha Romanoff is the last person in the world you want to mess with. Consider yourself warned.

            “Ms. Romanoff?”

            Natasha looked up from her computer, pinning the middle-aged man in her doorway with a sharp look. “My students are testing.”

            He opened his mouth to speak.

            Natasha stood abruptly. “Out. Now.”

            The man looked astonished and backed out of the classroom as quickly as he could without tripping over his own feet. Natasha gripped the edge of the door and fixed him with an icy glare.

            “You may wait for me in the front office. I will meet you there after my class has ended,” Natasha hissed before slamming the door in his face.

            She returned to her desk and continued entering scores for the last hour’s pop quiz. Not five minutes later, her door opened a crack and Principal Fury motioned for her to join him in the hall. Natasha issued a sharp order to her students in Russian and stepped out. Cowering behind Fury was the man who had interrupted her class.

            “What can I do for you, Principal Fury? My class is testing,” Natasha said through a tight jaw.

            Fury motioned to the man. “This is Jacob Smith. He’s the chairman of the foreign languages branch of the board of education for New York Public Schools. He’d like to observe your classes for the day. The board is looking to strengthen the district’s foreign languages reputation.”

            Natasha peered at them closely. “Fine. During my Russian courses, you will remain silent so they can test. My French classes are doing oral exercises and my Latin and Korean classes are working on independent projects. You may observe any class you’d like, but you will refrain from speaking when I am instructing. Are we clear?”

            The man stared at her in awe. “Yes, ma’am.”

            “Mr. Smith, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to speak with Ms. Romanoff privately,” Principal Fury requested.

            Smith scurried into the classroom and Fury chuckled. “I shouldn’t enjoy it this much when you scare the shit out of visitors, but Smith is a pain in my ass.”

            Natasha cracked a smile. “I do what I can, Nick. Could you stop by Clint’s room and ask him to swing by next hour?”

            Fury nodded knowingly. “You two just don’t make him bleed. I don’t have the patience for that kind of paperwork.”

            “I make no promises,” Natasha murmured, pulling open her door.

            Fury’s laughter followed her.

 

            “No, that’s not what concubine means,” Clint sighed. “You’re talking about Columbine, and I need a minute to process what you just said. Go…sit in the hall and think about your life choices, okay?”

            The teenage boy he was speaking to skulked out of the room.

            Clint turned to the rest of the room. “Can anyone else tell me what ‘concubine’ means?”  
            Someone cleared their throat at the door and Clint glanced over.

            “Principal Fury,” Clint grinned. “Come to help us with our vocabulary lesson?”

            Fury leaned against the doorframe. “What word are they having trouble with?”

            “Concubine,” Clint muttered, disappointed.

            Fury was silent for a minute. “That kid in the hallway, he thought it was Columbine, didn’t he?”  
            Clint nodded.

            “Every fucking year,” Fury growled, shaking his head. “I just came from Romanoff’s room. She’s got a visitor from the board of education. She wants you to stop by on your prep hour.”

            Clint gasped. “You’re letting us play American Tourist?”  
            “I have a meeting across town. I’m taking Coulson and Hill with me to represent the school. Rogers is acting principal until I get back,” Fury explained, ignoring the question. “Have a nice day and teach your kids what the fuck concubine means.”

            Clint clapped his hands together. “All right! Concubine! Take note, kids. It’s a mistress. Think about it for a minute. We’re reading _The Scarlet Letter_. What is the whole book about? Adultery! Anybody confused? Good. No homework tonight, just make sure you’re ready for the vocab quiz tomorrow.”

            A girl in the front raised her hand. “Mr. Barton, what’s American Tourist?”

            “You’ve got Romanoff for French next hour, don’t you?” Clint gestured to her the textbook on her desk. “You’ll find out then. Don’t say anything to anybody, and don’t mention it to the guest. Got it?”

            Clint looked down at her seriously until she nodded gravely.

           

            The bell rang and Clint raced his kids out the door, not bothering to lock his room up. When he skidded to a stop outside Nat’s door, she was talking to a short, balding man, her arms folded across her chest and her toe tapping in annoyance. She caught Clint’s eye and said something that was obviously a dismissal to the man.

            “Hey, Tash. How’s it going?” Clint asked innocently.

            Her shoulders tensed. “I hate him. He hums and he chews on his pen when he’s thinking. I want him gone. Now.”

            Clint grinned. “Does this mean we’re going to play American Tourist?”

            “No,” Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “The French Prison Guard.”

            Clint flailed in excitement, his elbow connecting with a passing student’s books. “Oh, shit, sorry! You good?”

            The student retrieved his books and edged around Clint warily. Natasha bit her lip to hold back her laughter. Clint made a face at her and straddled an empty chair next to Natasha’s desk. The bell rang and Natasha called the room to attention.

            “ _Bonjour, classe_ ,” Natasha began. “Today we have two visitors. This is Mr. Smith from the board of education, and this, as most of you know, is Mr. Barton. We’re going to be doing some oral exercises, and they have agreed to help me. Team up in groups of thee and agree upon a scene to act out. Keep in mind the conversational work we’ve been learning.”

            Mr.Smith looked timid. “Ms. Romanoff, I don’t think-”

            “Nonsense,” Natasha cut him off. “A man in charge of the curriculum that dictates how every high school in New York is taught a foreign language should easily be able to hold a simple conversation.” She clapped her hands sharply. “Let’s begin.”

            “ _Est-ce que tu as un stylo_?” Clint asked, looking at Smith. ( _Do you have a pen?)_

“Uh… _oui?”_ he stuttered.

            “ _Je pouvoir avoir le stylo?”_ Clint gestured impatiently. ( _May I have the pen?_ )

            Mr. Smith hesitated. “Uh… _un stylo? Pouvoir…”_

            “ _Vas-y_!” Natasha commanded. ( _Do it!)_

            A student cleared his throat loudly, waving his pen obviously. Smith fumbled in his pocket and offered Clint his pen.

            Clint smiled. “ _Merci beaucoup_.”

            “ _Monsieur Smith, est-ce que tu as une petite copine?”_ Natasha inquired innocently, folding her arms. ( _Do you have a girlfriend?)_

            “ _Oui_ ,” he said slowly, glancing at the giggling students.

            “ _Comment s’appelle-t-elle?”_ Clint crooked an eyebrow. ( _What’s her name?_ )

            Natasha scoffed. “ _Pamplemousse._ ” ( _Grapefruit_ )

            The class exploded into hysterics. Mr. Smith glanced about, obviously lost.

            Natasha held up a hand and the room went silent. “ _Parlez-vous francais?”_

            He sighed. “ _Non_.”

            “ _Va t’en, Monsieur Smith_ ,” Natasha muttered, jerking her head at the door.

            Smith nearly took himself out on the corner of her desk trying to scramble out of the room. Clint reached out to help him regain his balance.

            Natasha followed him slowly, almost as if stalking her prey. “Mr. Smith, if you can’t speak the languages you are attempting to regulate for my students, don’t you dare try to pretend that you do. I’ve seen your credentials. You claim to be fluent in Spanish, French, and German, yet you could not hold a simple conversation. I suggest you submit a letter of resignation before I have time to file my report against you.”

            She slammed the door in his face for the second time today and turned back to her students. “ _Continuer, classe._ ”

            Clint wagged his eyebrows. “Feeling better?”

            Natasha smiled peacefully. “ _Mais oui!_ ” ( _Of course_.)

 

            “You called him a fruit fucker?” Tony yelled, his mouth hanging open.

            Natasha shrugged, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “More or less.”

            “More!” Clint clarified. “She said he fucked a grapefruit.”

            Darcy choked on her water. “Natasha, you are by far my favorite language teacher.”

            “Hey!” Clint squawked.

            Darcy winked.

            “I hear you were showing a film today in class, Stark,” Natasha changed the subject efficiently.

            Tony nodded and popped open a bag of chips. “ _Titanic_.”

            One of the freshman math teachers looked up from her sandwich. “This early in the year, Tony?”

            “Don’t judge me, Danvers. I was up all night making a new Stark Tech security system,” Tony explained. “And I’ll be damned if I was going to teach on no sleep and half a cup of coffee. That’s abuse.”

Clint tossed a peach in the air and caught it. “What are we doing this weekend, guys? It’s the second weekend of the year, and we haven’t hung out yet.”

            “Oh! Can we go to O’Reilly’s? Half off tequila shots if you flash your staff ID. Plus they know us there,” Tony pointed out.

            “I’m in,” Clint said, tossing the peach to Natasha.

            She caught it and nodded. “Friday at eight.”

            “I shall join you then, my friends!” Thor bellowed, clapping Tony on the shoulder so hard he had to fumble not to drop his chips.

            Loki scoffed and turned back to his book.

            “Bruce is always up for whatever we plan,” Tony said, speaking for the man. “How about you, mini-me?”

            Peter looked surprised. “You’re inviting me to the bar?”

            “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?” Tony jeered.

            “I’ll go,” Peter decided. “Darcy?”

            “It’s alcohol, sweet cheeks. Of course I’m going,” Darcy scoffed.

            Tony smacked his palm against his forehead. “Rogers! That’s who I’m forgetting. Anybody know where he is?”

            “He’s standing in for Fury while he’s at that meeting,” Bruce reminded them. “He’s probably holding detention in his room.”

            Natasha stole Clint’s peach again and took a bite. “He’s volunteering on Saturday.”

            Clint took back the peach and bit into it. “I told him I’d go with him.”

            “Aw, my little boy’s growing up,” Natasha teased, ruffling his hair.

            Clint ducked out of her reach. “Just don’t call me a fruit fucker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is your extra chapter, my lovable lovelies. Have a fantastic Tuesday!


	7. Ben Dover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy really hopes this isn't how every Friday night together ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mention Of Sexual Violence

            “All right, everybody, listen up! I know next week is Homecoming, and at least half of you are going to spend all weekend hunting for the perfect dress or a decent tux that your girlfriend will approve of, but I need you guys to get through the fourth and fifth chapters by Monday. Got it?” Clint waited for some sign that his students were listening. “Good. You’re free to go. Have a nice weekend!”

            Clint sat down behind his desk, pulling a stack of essays in front of him. He snagged a purple pen from the jar on his desk. It had been a gift from Natasha. She’d had a friend from her Russian exchange program paint it for him, and he fell in love with it. It was a miniature recreation of one of his favorite paintings. Natasha had given it to him back when they were dating. Every time he looked at the jar, Clint wondered what it would have been like, to marry Natasha. To raise a family with her. The thoughts usually retreated as quickly as they appeared, but for nearly a year after they’d mutually decided to call it quits, Clint wondered. They loved each other, but they weren’t _in love_ with each other. Still, Clint thought he wouldn’t mind raising a kid with her.

            “Focus, Barton. You’ve got to get through half of these things before tonight,” Clint chided himself.

            “You talk to yourself, often?” A voice asked from the doorway.

            Clint looked up. “Oh. Darcy. Hey. Come in.”

            Darcy glanced around his room appraisingly. “Not a bad set up. Much more welcoming than Loki’s room.”

            “Hell is more welcoming than Loki’s room,” Clint muttered.

            This brought a laugh from Darcy. “True. Whatcha working on?”

            “Grading essays,” Clint responded. “I have a little over two hundred of them to grade this weekend, and they’re all at least two pages long.”

            Darcy made a sour face. “I’m glad I’m not you. However, I am a kind and generous Darcy, and I offer you my grading services.”

            Clint looked at her uncertainly. “Oh, honey, you really don’t want to do that.”

            Darcy leaned over his desk and swept up a good chunk of the pile, dropping them on a student desk in the front row. “Don’t question it. Just roll with it, Barton.”

            Clint shook his head at the pushy brunette. She had no idea what she was getting herself into, but he wasn’t about to save her from the hell that was the beginning of the year senior essay. They fell into a comfortable routine, marking up their separate essays, stopping every now and then to share pieces that were either genius or so incredibly ridiculous that it left Darcy in stitches. After about half an hour, Darcy gasped.

            “Oh! Looks like we have a contender,” she announced.

            Clint glanced up from his paper about some girl’s horse named Cinnamon. “A contender for what?”

            “Most disturbing paper ever written. Just to give you a taste, the title is ‘Ben Dover: The Story Of How I Took Her Virginity.’ Is this kid serious?” Darcy gaped.

            “Oh, dear god,” Clint groaned. “Who wrote it?”

            Darcy scanned the top of the page. “Danny Hall.”

            Clint held his hand out for the paper. “Hand it over. We’re saving that one for the bar. It definitely requires alcohol.”

            Darcy agreed and moved on to the next essay. By the time they wrapped up for the day, they had a stack of four essays to take to the bar with them. Clint was surprised that he really only had a handful of essays left to grade, not including the ones for the bar. Darcy waited while Clint tucked the essays in his bag and they walked to the parking lot together. Darcy paused at the front door.

            “Ah, shit,” she swore.

            “What’s up?” Clint asked, looking up from his keys.

            Darcy gestured outside. “It’s raining. Good thing I brought the messenger bag instead of the clutch today.”

            She positioned her bag over her head and pulled open the door, ready to make a run for her car.

            Clint grabbed her arm. “Hold on, I’ll grab an umbrella from the office.”

            He disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a hot pink umbrella. “For you.”

            Darcy dropped a curtsy. “Why thank you, kind sir.”

            Clint chuckled. “I’ll see you at the bar.”

            Darcy waved, pushing through the front door and running for her car, shrieking as she splashed through the puddles in the lot. Clint grinned and watched her until she made it to her car. She threw herself in the front seat and carefully folded the umbrella before shutting her door. It wasn’t until she honked her horn that he realized he was standing next to his car door, the rain soaking through his light jacket. He shook himself mentally and dropped into the front seat. _Focus._

           

            O’Reilly’s wasn’t really anything special. It was on the smaller side, with plain, polished wood tables, simple steel light fixtures, and matte black material covering the benches and stools. Its reputation was based on the owners. Jack and Bridget O’Reilly were born and bred in the bar business. They’re father had started the bar sixty years ago and it gained favor with the locals quickly. O’Reilly’s was a landmark for them, something that everyone knew. So when the high school teachers, who for the most part had been called in from all over to work there, had discovered it, it became their hangout almost instantly. Jack and Bridget had helped Clint move into his house last summer. Natasha had been a bridesmaid when Bridget was married two springs before, and Bruce had pitched it a few years ago when Jack tried to come up with his very own brew to sell at the bar. The O’Reilly’s were like family, and they accepted their newest members the way siblings do.

            “Och, look at this one, Jack. So young! Can you really drink?” Bridget teased, holding Peter’s face in her hands.

            Jack winked. “Let the poor lad go. You’re making him blush.”

            Bridget surveyed the group clustered together at the bar. “I thought you told me there was a new lass, too. You haven’t scared her off, have you?”

            Her sharp green eyes landed on Clint, who gulped his beer guiltily. “Don’t look at me like it’s my fault, Bee.”

            “If it isn’t your fault, why d’you look so guilty?” Bridget demanded, taking his beer from him.

            “Hey! Sorry I’m late. My shoot ran late,” Darcy explained breathlessly, falling onto a stool next to Natasha.

            Everyone stared at her, most of them with their mouths dropped open.

            “What?” She looked down at herself. “Oh. Right. Tits. Forgot about those.”

            Darcy had on a black leather bustier that fit every curve of her torso like a glove. Her jeans were electric blue, and made her legs look a mile long. She wore a pair of short, black leather motorcycle boots and her make up had been done dark and dramatic. Darcy pulled a loose sweater out of her bag and over her head, covering up the bustier. She reached back and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, making her winged eyeliner look just a bit more severe.

            “Sorry about that. Like I said, my shoot ran late and I didn’t have time to change. I’m sorry you had to see that, Peter. Your virgin eyes should recover shortly,” Darcy smirked.

            Bridget grinned. “I like her already. What can I get you?”

            “Whiskey on the rocks, please,” Darcy answered.

            “What were you doing at a photo shoot?” Tony asked.

            Darcy took a long drink from her glass before answering. “My roommate’s a photographer. Her female model canceled on her last minute, and I told her I’d stand in. I owed her one.”

            Peter took a sip of his beer. “What was the shoot for?”

            “She’s working for some band with a new album coming out,” Darcy told him.

            “What did you? Lay on the hood of a car?” Peter raised an eyebrow teasingly.

            Darcy smirked at him. “I got to play with guns.”

            Peter paused. “Touché.”

            Darcy turned to Clint. “Did you bring the papers?”

            “Mm,” Clint swallowed a mouthful of beer. “I almost forgot.”

            He pulled them out and dropped them on the bar, spreading them out.

            “Okay, we have four wonderfully awful essays to choose from. We have one from Danny Hall entitled ‘Ben Dover: The Story Of How I Took Her Virginity,’ one from Lana Harris called ‘Daddy’s Princess,’ one from Joe Roberts called ‘I Swear I Didn’t Know You Weren’t Supposed To Open That,’ and Linn Abbott’s ‘Like Really?’ Who wants what?” Clint offered.

            Bruce held out his hand. “I’ll take Harris. I’m the only one who doesn’t have her.”

            “I call Roberts!” Tony’s hand shot up in the air.

            “I’ll take Abbott off your hands. She isn’t a bad writer, but she usually chooses shitty subject matter,” Natasha said, reaching for the paper.

            “Last call for ‘Ben Dover’ before I take it!” Clint called.

            Darcy grinned. “I’ll fight you for it.”

            “Arm wrestling?” Clint suggested.

            Darcy shook her head. “Thumb war.”

            “No wars,” Steve cut in. “Share.”

            “Yes, Mom,” Clint muttered.

            Clint pushed the paper closer to Darcy. They leaned in at the same time, bumping shoulders. Clint bit the inside of his cheek. It took all of his restraint not to wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. He didn’t know what it was, but Darcy drove him crazy. He knew he was in for it from that first day in Loki’s room. He hadn’t fallen for anyone like this since Natasha, and he knew how well that had ended. Clint had to force himself to swallow a few times before he could focus on the paper in front of him. Just as he turned back to the essay. Darcy sucked in a breath and slapped her hand over the paper.

            “Whoa! What’s wrong?” Clint jumped back.

            Darcy’s eyes raced across the page that she held right in front of her face. Clint reached for it and she slapped his hand away.

            “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” she snarled.

            “Uh, Darcy…” Clint prodded.

            She slapped the paper face down on the bar, keeping a tight hold on it. “Who the hell is this kid? What the fuck is wrong with him? I’m going to kick his ass!”

            Clint grabbed her shoulders. “Okay, you wanna calm down and tell me what’s going on?”

            Darcy glanced up, noting the eyes of Natasha. Steve, and Loki on her. “Come outside with me.”

            Clint slid off his stool and followed her out to the sidewalk.

            


	8. Hell Hath Nick Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, there are no words. Save for a warning: Brace Yourselves.  
> Trigger Warning: Mention of Sexual Violence

When the door closed behind them, Darcy thrust the paper in his hands. “This asshole wrote a story about raping a girl!”

            “What?” Clint skimmed the first page.

            “No!” Darcy snatched it away. “Don’t read it. He says her name in there. That poor girl doesn’t need anybody else reading about that.”

            Clint tried to calm her down. “Darcy, you need to relax. We’ll take care of it. Is it a student at our school?” Darcy nodded and Clint pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling Fury. What’s her name?”

            Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “No chance in hell. Hand over the phone and I’ll tell Fury about it.”

            “Darcy,” Clint spoke sharply. “I’m his teacher, I’m responsible for fixing this. What is her name?”

            On the other end of the line, Fury picked up. “Barton? What happened?”

            “We’ve got a problem,” Clint told him. “We were going through the first senior essays of the year and Darcy stumbled upon something you need to see.”

            He could hear Fury moving around. “I’m on my way. You’re at O’Reilly’s?”

            “Yeah. We’re probably going to need the cops, too,” Clint informed him.

            Fury sighed. “I need details, Barton. Is this a situation involving a teacher or a student?”

            “Student. There was a paper detailing a nonconsensual encounter between Daniel Hall and…” Clint looked at Darcy expectantly.

            Darcy looked defeated. “Becca Barnes.”

            “Holy shit. Seriously?” Clint gaped.

            “What?” Fury demanded.

            “Uh,” Clint stammered. “I…apparently the girl was Becca.”

            There was silence on the other end.

            “Nick?” Clint called quietly into the phone.

            “I want every employee of the school that is at that bar to meet me in my office in ten minutes,” he ordered.

            Clint hung up and looked at Darcy. “We’ll fix this, Darcy. Come on. We need to get to the high school.”

            Darcy led the way into the bar, grabbing drinks away from people on her way to her purse. Tony fumbled to regain hold of his drink and shouted when she took it.

            “Shut it. Grab your shit and let’s go. Now,” she commanded.

            Tony and Steve glanced at each other.

            “Darcy, what’s-” Natasha began.

            “No time,” Clint interrupted. “We need to get to the school to meet Fury. You’ll get an explanation there. No smartass comments, no stupid guessing. Just shut up and move.”

            They were at the high school in seven minutes flat.

           

 

            Fury met them at the front door, his face impassive. He locked the door behind them and led the way to his office. He paused at his door and glanced at the small crowd of teachers.

            “We need some place bigger,” Fury mused out loud.

            “We can use my room. I’ll be able to pull up the files we’ll need there,” Clint suggested.

            Fury gave a single nod and Clint took the lead, pulling out his keys. A few minutes later, they were set up. Clint had turned on the computer and everyone else had dragged a desk into a circle. Clint pulled the paper out of his back pocket and dropped it on Darcy’s desk.

            “Before we start, I need the papers everyone else read. I need to know if there was anything illegal in the papers. Even a mention of it,” Clint stressed.

            They all shook their heads and handed in the papers.

            Clint motioned to Darcy. “The paper Darcy and I read is an account of the kid raping a female student.”

            “Oh my god,” Tony murmured.

            Peter looked shocked. Bruce looked disgusted.

            Fury cleared his throat. “I’ve called the police. There’s an officer on his way here. Before he gets here to take the paper as evidence and to get statements, I thought you should be told first hand. Some of you have one or both of the students in your classes, and you will at the least, have to face the victim come Monday. There will be a full investigation, charges will be pressed, and I expect Clint and Darcy to testify if need be.”

            Both of them nodded in agreement and Fury continued. “The boy who wrote the paper was a senior named Daniel Hall. I know Banner, Odinson, Barton, and Rogers have him. The victim he wrote about has classes with Stark and Parker, Rogers, Romanoff, Barton, and Laufeyson. Because of that reason, it could be that some of the rest of you are called in to testify about the character of both parties. You should prepare yourself should you be called on to do so.”

            A low murmur of assent rippled through the room.

            “Fury, who was the girl?” Loki spoke quietly, his voice like ice.

            Fury glanced away. “I don’t know if I should say. You’ll all find out at some point, but I don’t think I want to be the one to tell you.”

            “Barnes,” Darcy said, her voice small and distant.

            It was like the world frozen for a long moment. Shock, anger, disappointment, sympathy, and fear flashed through their faces in the blink of an eye. The silence was interrupted by the arrival of the officer. The silence continued as he read the paper, bagged it as evidence, and explained what they were going to do. He took statements from Darcy, Clint, and Fury and took down everyone’s contact information.

            “I understand that this may be difficult, but should you see either of the parties involved, you should not confront them about the encounter,” the man instructed them. “I have to file a report with my sergeant before I can make an arrest, but we should have him in custody by tomorrow afternoon-”

            “Tomorrow afternoon?” Darcy burst out. “You’re going to let that guy run free for twenty four hours because of a chain of command that’s established solely to remind everyone who has the bigger dick? You have to be fucking kidding me!”  
            “Darcy!” Natasha called out as the girl stormed out of the room.

            The officer glanced around. “Was she close to the victim?”

            “We all were,” Tony answered quietly.

            The officer nodded. “I promise we’ll get to the bottom of this. Give me a call if you have any questions, or you think of something pertinent to the case.”

            The man excused himself and left them to their thoughts. A few silent moments passed before Peter pushed himself to his feet.

            “I’m going to look for Darcy,” he said.

            Natasha stood with him. “Check the library, cafeteria, and science wings. I’ll take the social studies and language wings.”

            “I’ll check the gym and the front offices,” Steve said.

            Thor made for the door with Loki not far behind him. “We shall scour the parking lot.”

            “I’ve got the football and soccer fields,” Clint claimed. “Everybody else just wander the halls. Call when you find her.”

            They split their separate ways and Clint headed for the back exit of the school that let out not far from the sports fields. It was pretty dark back there, but the lights in the parking lot cast enough light to illuminate the path well enough to walk. He passed the empty tennis courts and cut through the soccer field. He rounded the corner of the bleachers for the football field and heard a sniffle. He stood still for a moment, trying to spot Darcy. He found her finally, huddled on the bleachers, her chin on her knees.

            He pulled out his phone and dialed Natasha. “I’ve got her. You guys head home.”

            “How about we all meet for breakfast tomorrow morning?” Natasha suggested.

            “Sounds like a plan. I’ll fill her in,” Clint assured her before hanging up.

            Clint joined Darcy on the bleachers silently. He sat next to her, his shoulder touching hers. He could feel her body shaking with sobs. He longed to pull her into his arms and murmur reassurances in her ear, but he knew not to. She’d pull away and wouldn’t help either of them. He settled for resting a hand on her shoulder and she surprised him by dropping her head against his upper arm.

            “It’s okay, Darcy,” he whispered. “It’ll be okay. Becca will be fine.”

            Darcy swiped at her tears. “Y-you didn’t read the whole thing, Clint. He…oh my god. How can we not go check on her? After knowing what happened to her? How can we not run over there and smother her with love until she wants to punch us? I can’t…I can’t just leave her like that.”

            “Fury will check in on her. He knows her. He’ll make sure she’s okay without giving it away,” Clint soothed her.

            Darcy bit her lip. “And what about that _boy_? He just gets to go on his way like nothing happened?”

            “The police will pick him up. He’ll get what he deserves,” Clint told her.

            Darcy pulled away, creating a gap. “That isn’t good enough.”  
            “It doesn’t do you any good to be angry about it, Darcy. You need to keep a clear head-” Clint reached out a hand.

            “No! Don’t touch me! Right now, I need to be angry. Because if I’m not angry…” Darcy’s voice trailed off. “Forget it. I’m going home. I’ll see you Monday.”

            Darcy was up and running across the field before he could stop her. He made a mental note to ask Peter to call her about breakfast. Clint stood up and made his way to his car, thinking about Darcy. This hadn’t been easy for any of them, but Darcy…It was like it was happening to her. There was something else going on, and Clint wanted to know what it was. For now, he resigned himself to going home, drinking another beer, and getting some sleep.

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Yeah. This kind of got away from me and I started writing without a real purpose so this happened. I'm kind of sorry. But I promise not to leave you without answers. As soon as the ninth chapter is done and edited, I'll post it.   
> Stay strong, my pretties.


	9. Mums The Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shit has hit the fan.

“Coffee’s up!”

            Peter raised his head from the table, eyes bleary. “Bless you.”

            The waitress smiled and filled his mug. The bell above the door rang and a moment later, Natasha, Tony, and Steve slid into the booth. Peter nodded in their direction, blinking to clear his eyes.

            “Someone was up all night,” Tony observed.

            Peter shrugged. “I was tracking down Darcy.”

            “I thought Barton found her,” Natasha said, eyebrow furrowed.

            Peter shook his head. “He said something that upset her and she took off. I was on my way out of the parking lot when I saw her running towards her car. I swear to god that girl runs on batteries or something. She didn’t go home until seven o’clock this morning.”

            “Who’s that?” Clint asked, dropping onto the bench next to Peter.

            Peter made an ambiguous gesture and swallowed more coffee.

            Clint glanced at Natasha. “Darcy.”

            “Ah. Yeah, I figured she might go back to the bar,” he sighed.

            “No,” Peter corrected him. “We didn’t go to the bar. I would’ve been happy to go to the bar. No, no, we drove. In circles. For hours. With classic rock blaring from the speakers. If I ever hear ‘Highway To Hell’ again, I’m going to lose it.”

            Tony glanced over Peter’s head. “Speak of the devil.”

            “And she shall appear,” Darcy finished. “Thor and Loki aren’t going to make it. Their mother is in town. Loki called me on my way here. It sounded like he was hiding in the bathroom.”

            Tony chuckled. “I’ve met Frigga. She’s a combination of the finer parts of the two of them. I can see how that would scare the shit out of Loki.”

            The waitress from before swept past the table, depositing coffee cups in front of everyone. They drank greedily and let the silence stretch. Bruce joined them after a few minutes, pulling a chair to the end of the table. Fury was supposed to show at some point, so they pushed off talk of the previous night until then. Tony was halfway through one of his infamous stories, gesticulating broadly, when he glanced up and choked on his tongue. Many people had tried to accomplish this. As far as anyone knows, only one person has ever succeeded, but they were fairly certain Pepper was on a business trip for the next week and a half.

            “Oh my god, hide,” Tony mumbled, covering his face with a menu.

            His friends stared at him, ignoring the command.

            “Um, hey, guys.”

            Clint yelped.

            Natasha quickly pasted a smile on her face. “Hello, Becca.”

            “What are you doing here?” Clint asked a little forcefully.

            Becca looked confused. “I live in the building next door. Is…is there something you know that I don’t? Uncle Nick stopped by last night and he was acting really weird. And now Mr. Stark is hiding behind a menu and Mr. Barton shrieked when I walked up.”

            “I did not shriek. I…shouted. In surprise,” Clint clarified.

            Becca nodded. “Right. Well, I’m just going to go now because I feel incredibly awkward.”    

            Over her shoulder, Steve saw Fury walking through the front door. He caught Becca’s eye and nodded in his direction. She turned and sighed.

            “Uncle Nick, what’s going on?” she begged.

            Fury froze for an instant. “Good morning, Becca. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I don’t have time for this I have a doctor’s appointment.”

            “Do you need a ride?” Fury asked.

            Becca took her take out order from the waitress. “Nope. I can walk.” She turned to go and then caught herself. “Before I forget. Can you ask Aunt Monica to send me the name of that doctor we were talking about the other night?”

            Fury looked like he’d swallowed a watermelon whole. “Of course.”

            “Thanks, Uncle Nick. Have a nice weekend everybody,” Becca called over her shoulder, pushing out onto the street.

            Fury collapsed on a chair, his head dropping to the table. Tony chucked the menu away.

            Natasha nudged Fury. “What’s up?”

            “She and Monica were talking about lady doctors. She wants the name of a lady doctor,” Fury moaned.

            “So?” Tony asked. “Maybe she doesn’t like guy doctors.”

            Darcy shot him a look. “That’s not what he means by a lady doctor.”

            All the color drained from Tony’s face. “Oh, god. I’m scarred for life.”

            “That’s it. We have to say something to her,” Darcy decided. “If she’s looking into seeing a gynecologist, she’s worried about something down there. She’s seventeen, she can’t go through something like that alone.”

            Natasha nodded in agreement. “I agree. If she’s pregnant-”

            Fury moaned into the table.

            “If she’s pregnant,” Natasha continued. “She’ll need support. After school on Monday, Darcy, you and I will talk to her.”

            Darcy stood. “Good. Until then, I plan to consume as much alcohol as possible and charge my taser. I’ll see you on Monday.”      

           

            On Monday morning, Tony paced anxiously as his students filed into the room. He was scanning every face for a trace of guilt, but he found none. Most of them looked sleep deprived and hungry. He felt their pain. Tony let Peter start the lesson and slipped out the door to pay a visit to Bruce. He quietly let himself into Bruce’s room and joined him at his desk.

            “You have Hall first hour, don’t you?” Tony asked quietly.

            Bruce looked up from his notebook to give Tony a worried look. “Tony, don’t.”

            Tony held up his hands. “I’m not doing anything, I’m just asking.”

            Bruce looked unsure. “He isn’t here today.”

            “Right. Okay,” Tony nodded.

            “Tony,” Bruce said.

            He looked up, biting his lip worriedly.

            Bruce smiled sadly. “That girl inherited a whole new family when she moved here. Go check on her. I’m sure she’s fine. Steve would’ve called if she hadn’t shown up.”

            “You’re right. I’m going to stop in, just in case. Thanks, Banner,” Tony smiled, ruffling Bruce’s hair.

            He made his way through the silent halls quickly, passing Clint and Natasha’s classrooms. He was surprised that he couldn’t hear Natasha’s loud, passionate voice barking commands in Russian. It was also a bit of a shock to glance in Clint’s room and see him sitting behind his desk, staring off into space as his students worked quietly.  The students had to realize something was off. Half of the teachers had gone mute over the weekend, who could miss that? Yet he had a feeling that no one would question it. The teachers weren’t notoriously moody. Tony resolved to try to perk up, for his students’ sakes. It was probably a bit weird for them, coming in to find their teachers looking like they’d come straight from a wake. Tony finally ended up in the Social Studies wing and found himself hesitating before Steve’s open door. He could hear the man’s booming voice, going on about the end of the Great War, though markedly more sedate than usual. He found himself comforted by the rise and fall of Steve’s voice. It was like a lullaby. He was so caught up in it that he didn’t realize Steve had stopped lecturing and come to the door.

            “I thought I heard you lurking,” Steve said, jerking Tony back to reality. “Care to join us?”

            Tony winked. “I thought you’d never ask.”

            Steve grinned and turned back to his class while Tony strode in and made himself comfortable on a stool in the corner. His gaze swept through the classroom, passing over vaguely familiar faces until he found Becca’s. He flinched when he realized she was staring right back at him. She mouthed something to him that he didn’t catch. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Uh oh. Tony made a mental note to make himself scarce next hour. Peter could handle it. At least she looked okay, Tony thought. Steve wrapped up his lecture with instructions for the kids to pair off and write a short summary of the peace treaties reached to the end the war. As soon as Steve turned away, Becca was out of her seat.   

            “Not good,” Tony muttered, raising his eyebrows at Steve.

            Steve glanced at Becca, his eyes softening. “We are acting weird. She deserves some kind of explanation.”

            “You got any ideas, Golden Boy?” Tony snapped.

            Steve shrugged.

            “What,” Becca hissed, “Is wrong with all of you? You look like someone kidnapped your dog. And you’re the fourth person to come into Mr. Rogers’ class and stare at me. What the holy hell is going on?”

            “I could send you to the office for swearing,” Tony pointed out, avoiding the question.

            Becca glared at him. “If it gets me answers, by all means. Send away.”

            “I should go. My class needs me. I think I hear Peter screaming,” Tony fumbled, sliding off his stool.

            Becca put her hands on her hips. “Not a chance in hell. Explain.”

            Steve and Tony exchanged a look. They could probably just send her to the office and not have to deal with it, but they knew Becca didn’t deserve that and, frankly, they felt bad.

            Steve finally relented. “All right. We can’t right now, but meet us in Ms. Romanoff’s room during lunch.”

            Becca studied them both for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “Fine. Just stop staring at me. It’s freaking me out.”

            Tony saluted. “Aye, aye, captain.”

            Becca rolled her eyes and returned to her seat.

            “Tony?” Steve said through his teeth.

            “Yup, I’ll tell them,” Tony replied.

 

            When Becca walked into Natasha’s classroom a few hours later, she was surprised to find not only Steve and Tony, but Darcy, Natasha, Clint, and Fury waiting for her.

            She paused in the doorway. “Is this an intervention?”

            “Come on in, Becca,” Fury instructed her as gently as he could.

            This put Becca on high alert. “Oh my god, what happened? Is my dad okay? My mom, she isn’t hurt is she? They said they weren’t on active duty anymore! I should’ve known they were lying!”

            Natasha guided Becca to a desk. “Your parents are fine, Becca. No one’s injured.”

            “Oh, thank god,” Becca gasped. “Then, could you kindly explain what in the name of everything good and sacred in this world is going on with you people?”        

            Natasha looked hesitant. “We…Becca, we know about Danny Hall. What he…what he did. To you.”

            Becca’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

            “It’s okay, Becca,” Darcy assured her. “He, um, he wrote a paper about it. The police have him in custody. He can’t hurt you again.”

            Becca stared at them.

            “Becca?” Fury prompted.

            “Talk to us, Barnes,” Tony pleaded.

            Becca opened her mouth. “I’m probably going to regret saying this, but what the actual fuck?”

            The adults in the room froze.

            “I- what?” Clint sputtered.

            Becca looked concerned for their mental health. “I don’t know what you think happened, but you’re wrong. I don’t know anybody named Danny Hall, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t hurt me. Are you guys talking about the kid who punched me, because his name wasn’t Danny. And he already made amends. We’re cool now.”

            They stared at her dumbly, not saying anything.

            Becca glanced between their faces, settling on Steve, who seemed less dumbstruck than the rest. “Can you explain what’s going on here?”

            “Mr. Barton and Ms. Lewis found a paper, written by Danny Hall. It mentioned you, and it was…” Steve hesitated, trying to decide how best to say what he needed to say.

            Clint pulled a copy of the essay out of his back pocket. “You, uh, you might want to read this.”

            Becca took the essay from him and spread it out in front of her. Her body drooped visibly as she read. She pushed the pages to the floor and covered her face with her hands.

            “B-Barnes? You okay in there?” Tony asked nervously.

            Steve bent to gather the papers but Becca’s hands shot out to intercept his. He glanced up, meeting her eyes. Her face was flaming at her eyes brimmed with tears.

            “D-don’t. Please. Just…leave them,” Becca choked.

            Steve held up his hands and backed off slowly. Fury moved closer to Becca, kneeling so they were on the same level.

            “Becca, we need to know what of that is true,” he told her gently.

            She shook her head. “None of it. He made it up.”

            Natasha placed a hand on her shoulder. “Becca, you have to be honest about this-”

            “I am!” Becca snapped. “It’s a sick joke, or a psychotic fantasy or something. It didn’t happen.”

            Darcy tried her hand. “No one’s upset with you, Becca. We just want to help you, but you have to talk to us.”

            Becca shot to her feet. “Virgin! I’m a virgin! Is that what you wanted to hear? Because congratulations, you’ve heard it and now I’m humiliated. Thank you. All of you. So very much.”

            She pushed away from them, throwing the door open and sprinting down the hall. They hurried after her, Fury calling her name. Becca ran flat out, barreling through the halls and disappearing. Clint broke off to cover the front door, Tony following his lead. Natasha and Darcy headed towards the girls bathroom and locker room. Fury headed for his office to recruit Coulson and Hill for the search. Steve walked through the halls, keeping his eyes open. He stepped out into a crossroad of two hallways and immediately slammed into someone. His wide frame was barely rocked, but the other person landed flat on their ass. Steve turned to apologize and found Becca sprawled on the tile floor, tears running down her face.

            Steve crouched in front of her. “Becca?”

            “Oh, great! What’s the use of going to a gigantic school if you literally run into the people you’re trying to avoid?” Becca sobbed, scrambling to her feet.

            Steve hesitated. He let Becca sob into her hands for a moment longer before reaching out and placing his hand on her shoulder uncertainly.

            “Becca?” He wasn’t entirely sure she was listening. “We didn’t mean to embarrass you. We were worried. We thought that boy had-”

            “I know what you thought!” she burst out. “I know what all of you were thinking, and what you think now.”

            “We don’t think anything. We’re just happy nothing happened to you,” Steve assured her.

            Becca shot him a look. “No, of course not!”

            Steve didn’t know what to say. His experience with sobbing women was limited. Tony was probably more suited for this. Or maybe Natasha. She was good at everything.

            Becca sniffled. “I-I just can’t stand this! How could someone…how could he write those things? And give it to a teacher! Who does something like that?” She was breathing too quickly now, her eyes wide. “I- I- I can’t b…br-””

            Steve grabbed her by the shoulders. “Breathe, Becca! You’re hyperventilating.”

            Becca stepped backward until she hit the wall and doubled over, her hands on her knees. Steve hovered, unsure of what to do. Should he yell for Fury? Call for a teacher? What good would that do him? He needed to calm Becca down and get her to walk with him to the office.

            “I just…don’t understand,” Becca gasped between sobs. “How could he do that?”

            Steve was lost for an answer, so he did what his instincts had been telling him to do since Friday night. He pulled her into a tight hug and let her cry her eyes out, propriety be damned.

            


	10. The Tony Stark Approach to Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the fallout.

 

No one was surprised when Becca didn't show up for the second half of the day. After she and Steve had made it to the office, Fury had excused her without hesitation, calling Coulson to drive her home. No one commented on the obvious tearstains that adorned Steve’s shirt, whether it was because they didn’t notice or because they didn’t care. The rest of the day moved sluggishly, ending finally with a short meeting held again in Clint’s room. Fury updated the group on the situation with the senior boy, who had been picked up by the police and was currently being held for questioning.

“I don’t think I have to tell you not to speak about this with your students,” Fury sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “They’ll hear about it eventually, but I don’t want my teachers spreading it. As for Miss Barnes…I, uh, I wouldn’t expect to see her in class for the next couple of days. If you could draw up the assignments for the rest of the week and drop them off for me tomorrow afternoon, I’ll make sure she gets them.”

There were a few nods around the room and Fury rubbed his neck, looking exhausted. “All right. Get the hell out of here.”

Tony staggered to his feet and glanced at Peter. “Hey, do you mind helping me run detention tomorrow afternoon?”

Peter shrugged. “Sure. On one condition.”

“Oh?” Tony arched an eyebrow. “You have conditions now?”

Peter nodded. “You have to grade all the tests by yourself. No help from Bruce or Steve, no suckering one of the rookie teachers into doing it, either. All the tests personally graded by Tony Stark.”

“What? No!” Tony stared at Peter, indignant. “When the hell did you grow a set?”

“No grading, no deal,” Peter looked at Tony meaningfully.

Tony glared at him before sighing in defeat. “Fine. We have a deal.”

Bruce chuckled from beside Peter. “Maybe I’ll swing by detention tomorrow. It’s been years since I’ve seen Tony grade his own tests. He’s been bullying the first year teachers into doing it since he first started here.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Darcy smirked, passing by.

Tony had a far away look in his eye, remembering. “Ah, the good old days. There was only ever one person who said no.”

“Actually, I specifically remember telling you to shove it where the sun don’t shine,” Ms. Danvers corrected from across the room.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony made a face and dropped back into his seat, glancing over at Steve. “Hey. Heathcliff. What’s wrong?”

Steve looked up, surprised, as if he’d forgotten other people were in the room. “Oh, uh, nothing. Just thinking, I guess.”

Tony furrowed his brow. “Don’t do that. You look like a sad puppy and it’s kind of depressing. I keep picturing Air Bud sobbing into his kibble.”

Steve gave a halfhearted smile.

“Slightly better,” Tony observed. “A little more teeth next time. Flash the dimples.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

Tony clapped him on the back. “There we go. Now just keep doing that and you’ll be fine.”

The statement was trademark Tony. Smother any bad feelings and replace them with a façade to please the world. Steve wasn’t so sure that would make him feel better.

 

Now, what _did_ surprise them was when Becca showed up the next morning. _Laughing._ Steve had fumbled to snap his jaw shut when she’d come through his door, nearly skipping arm in arm with a friend. He snapped up his phone and dialed Tony as fast as his fingers could manage.

“What the fuck?” Steve demanded upon hearing Tony’s voice.

Steve swore, but it was usually for good reason, so he had Tony’s attention. “Um. I don’t know. What happened?”

“Get down here,” Steve ordered. “Now. And possibly bring Natasha.”

Five minutes later, Natasha pulled open Steve’s door and jerked her head towards the hall. Steve jumped to his feet and nearly tripped over himself to get outside. Closing the door with more force than necessary, Steve grabbed Tony’s shoulder.

“What is happening? Was that a sick nightmare or something? Was I delirious?” Steve demanded.

Tony’s eyes widened and he stepped back out of Steve’s reach. “Okay, I’m gonna need more than that if you want answers that aren’t sarcastic.”

Steve took a deep breath and pointed at his door. “Becca.”

“What? She’s here?” Natasha gasped.

“And she’s _laughing,_ Natasha! It’s like…it’s like yesterday never happened,” Steve insisted.

Natasha and Tony stared at him for a long moment. Finally, Tony reacted. He strode over to the door, ripping it open. The students went silent. Tony scanned the room quickly before slamming the door shut.

“That was weird. She’s smiling,” Tony hissed.

Natasha squinted at him. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re actually a genius, or if you’re a complete fucking idiot.”

Tony shrugged as if he wondered the same thing. “Do you think she was brainwashed?”

“Probably not, Tony,” Steve said. “What should we do? Should someone talk to her, or should we just go with it? I mean, this is better than her running away, but what if this is some kind of reaction from the shock of it all? That can’t be good for her.”

Natasha thought for a moment. “Fury said he was setting her up with someone to talk to here at school when she came back. I’ll run down and ask him. Tony, go back to your class. You too, Steve. I’ll send you an email after I talk to Fury.”

Natasha turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall. Tony shot a worried look at Steve’s door before wandering off toward the math wing. Steve steeled himself, then pulled open his door and stepped into the oddly silent room.

“Um, Mr. Rogers?” One of the students asked from the back. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. Mr. Stark was looking for a student that didn’t show up to his first hour,” Steve lied quickly. “For today, I want you all to break into groups and outline the next section in the chapter. I want one assignment from each room, but each of you should have a copy of it on hand for tomorrow.”

It was rare for Steve to dismiss them to do their own work for the entire hour, but no one questioned it. They could tell their teacher was distracted, so it was unlikely he’d be paying close enough attention to discern the odd earbud or cell phone during group work. Steve sat behind his desk, appearing to be entering grades into the computer. Really, he was refreshing his email repeatedly. After about the tenth time, Natasha’s email appeared. Steve sat up straight and clicked to open it.

 

_Guess who pulled shrink duty until Darcy gets back from the conference?_

_Try not to push her for details. If she doesn’t want to talk, drop it. Fury authorized you to pull her out of third period for a meeting. I’ll send her down after I take attendance._

_-Natasha_

Steve rubbed his forehead. What in the name of hell was he supposed to say? _Hey, Becca, I noticed you aren’t sobbing in a heap on the floor. What’s up with that?_ Steve squelched a groan. Maybe he could ask Natasha to take over. Steve glanced up to scan the room as he’d been doing every few minutes. His eyes landed on Becca, who stood and walked over to the pencil sharpener. In that moment, her smile dropped and she looked more exhausted than he’d ever seen. Her shoulders drooped heavily with the weight of a sadness no teenager should ever have to bear. Her face lost some of the glow it had held only moments before, and he could tell instantly that she’d been crying for a long, long time. Sure, she’d covered it well with make up and a false smile, but she dropped the act when no one was looking. And realizing this, Steve brushed aside all thoughts of shirking his duty onto Natasha. He couldn’t stand to see Becca like this.

 

Becca carried on much the same way throughout Tony’s class, joking with her friends and raising her hand to answer Peter’s questions. She’d even managed to showcase some of her usual witty banter with Tony before class started. Tony was surprised that he actually felt a little pain for her. He had no idea how she felt, but he knew all about brushing off depression and fear, covering up how you felt on the inside with a flashy, look-at-me-now exterior. All she needed was a decade or so and a factory full of whiskey, and she’d have been the female embodiment of Tony Stark himself.  Peter seemed surprised at Becca’s behavior, too, but he didn’t say anything until after the bell rang, when the classroom was empty.

“Is Barnes okay?” he asked quietly.

Tony looked weary. “I don’t know, kid. I don’t know.”

It hadn’t taken long for word of Becca’s return to spread through the teachers, and many of them made a point to stand outside of their rooms between classes, keeping a close eye on her. Becca, ever the observant one, noticed, and made herself walk with her head up, a smile on her face and mindless chatter leaking out of her mouth in the direction of her friends. She didn’t care what she was saying, or if they were listening, so long as no one noticed her. For years, that was all she’d wanted, to be noticed. Military kids, they moved around a lot. It was difficult to make friends, to establish connections, when you might be there and gone in a matter of months. But in Manhattan, Becca had only been here two weeks, and she had already found her place. Just like that, it could all go away, she thought. So she kept it inside, her sadness. Kept the burden off of her new friends and forced herself to act normally.

And it was all going splendidly until Ms. Romanoff called her up at the beginning of class.

She slipped a note in Becca’s hand. “This is a pass to go see Mr. Rogers. Don’t worry if it takes all hour. I’m confident you can more than catch up if you miss today’s lesson.”

Becca took the note, confused, and slipped out into the hall, her notebook slapping against her thigh as she walked. The language hall wasn’t far from the social studies hall, but she took her time, not entirely sure she ever wanted to make it to Mr. Rogers’ room. Unfortunately for her, the walk came to an end and she knocked lightly on the door, hoping he wasn’t in or didn’t hear.

“Come in.”

_Damn._

Becca bit her cheek and opened the door. Steve was perched on the edge of his desk, flipping through his lesson plan.

“Mr. Rogers,” she said, throwing a sloppy salute in his direction.

Steve offered a friendly smile and gestured to the first row. “Take a seat, Becca.”

She hesitated. “Am I failing? Because I checked my grades a few days ago, and I’m pretty sure I had an A in this class.”

“You aren’t failing,” Steve assured her.

Becca clapped her hands together, covering up her nerves with bravado. “Great! Then I will just be on my way, returning to the wonderful world of foreign language! Have a nice day!”

“ _Becca_ ,” Steve’s voice was firm. “Sit.”

Becca sighed and hesitated before a desk. “Can I make a request? Can I sit on the floor or something? I feel like this is a pop quiz.”

She looked up and could tell Steve was fighting a smile. “Sure.”

Becca folded her legs underneath her gracefully. “Okay. Hit me.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Becca cut him off by clearing her throat. She looked pointedly at the floor in front of the desk and wiggled an eyebrow.

“This will be a lot less awkward on the floor. Probably. I have a feeling this is going to be really uncomfortable anyway,” Becca mused.

Hoping to get her to pay attention, Steve sat across from her, folding his legs neatly. “You know what I’m going to ask you about.”

Becca nodded miserably, her calm and collected act beginning to falter already. “Yeah. I have some idea.”

“Fury thinks it’s a good idea for you to talk to someone. He originally assigned Ms, Lewis, but she’s away for a conference right now, so you’re stuck with me,” Steve joked lamely.

Becca shrugged. “Could be worse. I could be having this conversation with Coach Odinson.”

Steve had trouble biting back his laughter, an image of Thor trying to get Becca to talk to him. “That is true.”

Becca giggled, looking away, and silence stretched.

“Becca,” Steve coaxed softly. “Talk to me.”

Her face was turned away from him, but he could see her bite her lip. Her chin trembled as if she held back tears.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she answered quietly. “A teenage boy did something incredibly stupid, with no thought as to how it would hurt someone else. Happens every day, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve shook his head. “Not like this.”

Becca sucked in a breath. “Maybe not, but it isn’t anything to get all worked up over.”

Steve itched to reach out to her. “That isn’t true, and you know it. You’re obviously upset, and with good reason! Let us help you.”

“No!” Becca insisted fiercely, whipping around to look at him. “No. Because if I ask for help, that’s me admitting that something happened, and I don’t want to do that. What I want is for all of this to go away. I want to not have my teachers treating me like an incompetent child! I want to walk through the halls without feeling violated! I want to make jokes with Mr. Stark, and screw around with Mr. Barton and Ms. Lewis. I want to come in and kick _ass_ in history, and learn as much as I can from Ms. Romanoff, and then I want to hang out with people who like me for who I am, not people who pity me because I’m the girl Danny Hall wrote the paper about. I am more than that!”

The classroom rang with silence after her outburst.

“But at the same time, I know I can’t ignore it,” Becca continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because next time, it might not be just a paper. Next time, he might actually do it. And if I act like it never happened, someone could get hurt. Another girl could end up like this, and I can’t let that happen. I refuse to let someone else get hurt because I’m scared!”

Steve felt a surge of warmth for the girl. She felt responsibility beyond what was expected of her, but she was determined to uphold it. He knew she would rather have every excruciating detail of what had happened thrown into the light than have someone else be hurt in the same way, or worse.

“I don’t need to talk about what happened,” she insisted. “Not now. I know what happened, and I know that it tears me apart. But it’s my burden to bear, and I can work through it on my own.”

Steve knew it was useless to argue with her right now, so he nodded.

Becca pushed herself to her feet and ran her hands over the thighs of her jeans. “I’m going to go back to class now, if that’s all right.”

Steve stood, turning back to his desk. “Of course.”

Becca paused, her hand on the door. “Mr. Rogers?”

“Yeah?” Steve turned.

“If…If I do need to talk…” she trailed off.

Steve smiled gently. “I’m here if you need me, Becca.”

She nodded slowly and slipped out into the hallway, letting his door swing closed behind her. Steve dropped into his desk chair, letting his head fall back with a loud sigh.

“Get it together, Rogers,” he muttered.

He wasn’t ready to admit to himself what, exactly, he was feeling, but he was smart enough to pull a Tony Stark and shove the inklings way down deep, where neither the light of day nor his mind could reach them. However, that didn’t help when the smell of Becca’s perfume lingered around his desk for the rest of the day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. What in the holiest of hells have I gotten myself into with this one? I'm a little bit sorry. But not too much.


	11. Wait. A Musical Chapter?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to let the music play, boys and girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A musical chapter? What? How?"  
> Because I am that awesome.  
> "What if I don't know what song you're talking about?"  
> That will definitely happen. I listed all of the songs in the notes at the end.  
> Personally, I think the chapter's even better when you listen to the songs while reading it, but I did also stop to sing aloud like every other sentence. I hope you enjoy it and you don't think I ruined your life by destroying this chapter.

          The halls of Manhattan High are rarely crawling with the heathenistic masses before seven, and most mornings the teachers were more likely to show up at six-thirty than the requested six o’clock. There are three regular exceptions to this rule. The first is Stanley, the head custodian. The second, Steve Rogers. The last exception is Vice Principal Phil Coulson. Some say his early arrival is because he can’t bear to be apart from his precious walkie talkie for more than a few hours. Others blame it on the satisfaction he gets from sitting behind his desk and playing God to his students. The bravest students claim it’s so he can sneak into Fury’s office and pretend to be the menacing principal himself. Sadly, none of this is correct. Should a student happen upon Coulson in his morning routine, “shocked” would be an understatement for how they were feeling.

          “ _Secret agent man!_ ” Coulson somersaulted across an empty hallway and swung around the corner, finger gun at the ready.

          He strutted down the hall, headphones in, and paused every now and then to shoot at unsuspecting lockers and suspicious posters.

          “ _Oh no, you let the wrong words slip while kissing persuasive lips. The odds are you won’t live to see tomorrow,_ ” he crooned, spinning to block a blow from an invisible attacker. “ _Secret agent man! Secret agent man! They’ve given you a number, and taken away your name. Secret agent man!”_

          He turned and kicked his office door open with a loud “hiya” and pirouetted into his office. He struck a pose very much like one he’d seen Freddie Mercury strike and karate chopped the door shut. Out in the hall, two unfortunate onlookers stood frozen in shock.

          “What the actual fuck was that?” Clint screeched.

          Darcy shook her head slowly. “This school is insane. Everyone here is crazy.”

          “This is what I get for coming to work early? This is the reward of offering a review session before class?” Clint demanded. “I get treated to Black Swan: CIA Edition? I need more coffee.”

 

          Peter unlocked the classroom door and dropped his keys in his bag, his eyes half open. He glanced at the clock and winced. This was his payback for carpooling with Darcy, who had agreed to help Clint with some review session for his students. It was ass o’clock in the morning and he was already at work. He sprawled out on the floor behind his desk and scrolled through his workout playlist. He needed something with a kick to get him in gear. He nodded off through a handful of Metallica songs and half of a rap album his college roommate had gotten for him. He hit shuffle and skipped through a few songs before breaking into a grin and cranking the volume.

          This. Was. His. Fucking. _Jam._

          “ _I’m an angel with a shotgun fighting till the war’s won. I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back!_ ” Peter was on his feet now, singing into his cell phone. “ _I’ll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe! Don’t you know you’re everything I have? And IIIIIIIIIIIII wanna live not just surviiiiiiiive!”_

“Shake it!”

          Peter flailed in surprise, ripping his headphones out. “Jesus, Stark! Warn a guy next time.”

          Tony set his coffee down on his desk. “Sorry. The Cab? Really? I never would’ve guessed that one.”

          Peter shrugged. “It’s a good song.”

          “Oh, I’m sure it is. Remind me to suggest karaoke as our next group outing,” Tony teased.

 

          _When my fist clenches, crack it open,_

_Before I use it and lose my cool,_

_When I smile, tell me some bad news,_

_Before I laugh and act like a fool._

_If I swallow anything evil,_

_Put your finger down my throat,_

_If I shiver please give me a blanket,_

_Keep me warm let me wear your coat._

_No one knows what it’s like,_

_To be the bad man,_

_To be the sad man,_

_Behind blue eyes._

Bruce forced himself to roll over, made his body move off the bed and towards the bathroom. He stumbled over the threshold and caught hold of the sink. He shivered in the cool morning air that danced across his sweaty skin. Lifting his head, Bruce peered up through a mess of dark curls, his eyes blurring in the mirror. His hands shook violently as he reached for the small orange bottle.

          He hated living his life out of a pill bottle. But not as much as he hated what he was like without the medication. If he looked like a mess now, you’d be shocked at what happened after a few days without a dose. Without them, he was a shell of a human being, a walking corpse. The fear was the worst part if it all. He would be scared of his own body, scared of the traitorous emotions that rule him with an iron fist. One moment he’d be ripping apart anything he could get his hands on, then crying until he passed out from exhaustion and dehydration, then shaking in fear under his bed, terrified of what would happen next.

          Yes, without them, he was a shell of a man. With them, he was Dr. Banner. And he would kill to keep his life the way it was.

 

          _When God is gone and the devil takes hold,_

_Who’ll have mercy on your soul?_

_Oh-oh Death._

If you never met Nick Fury, you wouldn’t believe the majority of what his students- and teachers- had to say about him. For sure, they were dramatic and intimidating. He walked silently because the ghosts of the people he killed were constantly underfoot, their invisible bodies lying in piles so thick that they kept his soles off the ground. The little things he muttered under his breath were ancient curses branded into his brain from his time as a demon. His words carried the very essence of death itself, a single breath enough to kill a man. His eye could turn you to stone where you stood. His long leather coat was made of the hides of his enemies and on rainy days, it bled.

          How much of this was true and how much was imagination was all in the mind of the beholder. Most attendees of Manhattan High- one Clint Barton included- believed it all. That isn’t to say they are without good reason. In his time in the Special Forces he played reaper to many people. He did mutter to himself in Latin, but more often than not he was saying the same run of the mill curses everyone else used. When you’re two hundred miles behind enemies line, you learn to be fairly light on your feet and after a decade it becomes a habit. Being in charge of a dozen unruly soldiers whose lives depend on your leadership requires you to be able to issue a command with a single glance. As for his breath, well…it was minty fresh.

 

          Natasha pulled her hair back from her face, tying it up in a messy knot. She rubbed chalk on her hands and surveyed the set up in the gym. This week, the gymnastics team had laid claim to the gym while Coach Odinson worked on baseball with his students. The coach owed her a favor, and had left the gym unlocked so she could use the equipment during her free period. She pushed her headphones in and stepped up to the beam.

          Forty-five minutes later, she was breathing heavily and ready for a quick shower. The gym door opened and Darcy stepped inside, lugging a cart of books behind her.

          “Hey, Natasha. Working on your routine?” Darcy teased playfully.

          Natasha laughed. “You want to see it?”

          Darcy chuckled. “Oh absofuckinglutely.”

          Natasha scrolled through her music and hooked the device up to the large speakers. She hopped onto the bar and struck a sarcastically serious pose, her chin raised. Darcy watched patiently, a smile on her lips. The music started and Natasha moved gracefully to the beat on the bar. Darcy knew she was messing around, but she could see the real skill behind the parody. The chorus came and Natasha flipped off the beam, landing smoothly. She grabbed Darcy and pulled her up onto the cushy mat.

          “ _The curse on her calls your name to this wicked game called love. Black Widow! Though you know her kisses kill, you can’t resist that deadly thrill, Black Widow!”_ Natasha sang, her hands in the air and hips twisting.

          Darcy laughed and danced along to the music.

          Natasha sang into her fist like it was a microphone. “ _Long legs squeeze you tight, hold you for one endless night! Her touch is cold, her bite is deep, she’s everything you’ll ever need!_ ”

          Darcy tripped over her own feet and landed flat on her ass, sending her into a fit of giggles. Natasha helped her to her feet and pressed a hand to her own stomach.

          “Between the laughter and the awful singing, I think I’m going to be sick,” Natasha groaned.

          Darcy sighed. “God, I needed that.”

          Natasha nodded in agreement. “And now what I need is a shower. I’ll see you at lunch.”

         

          _I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck,_

_With a pink carnation and a pick up truck,_

_But I knew I was out of luck,_

_The day the music died._

_I started singin’ bye bye Miss American Pie,_

_Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry,_

_Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye,_

_Singin’ “this’ll be the day that I die.”_

 Steve usually spent his free period grading papers or getting ready for the next day’s lesson. It’s what free periods were for, so he used them wisely. Today, though, he couldn’t help himself. Principal Fury had approached him a few days before about doing a mural in the courtyard of the school. The walls were blank and during the winter, the somehow made the front of the school look even bleaker than usual. Fury wanted a mural to out front to brighten up the place and to show that the school had artistically talented students and teachers. Steve would be in charge of planning and drawing the mural, and he would have a team of student volunteers to help him paint it when the time came.

          So after his second class of the day cleared out, he grabbed his sketchbook and a pencil and took up a spot on one of the stone tables in the courtyard. He opened his sketchbook to a blank page and put his pencil to the paper. Every now and then he glanced up to envision the sketch on the wall, bursting with color. The courtyard was fairly quiet, interrupted now and then by passing traffic, so it was easy for Steve to realize he suddenly had company.

          “I’m fine, Mom, I promise. You don’t have to come home, really. I talked to Dad this morning and I told him the same thing. I’m a big girl, I don’t need the two of you to come running every time my feelings get hurt. You and Dad have your jobs to worry about. I can take care of myself,” Becca insisted, wandering into the courtyard with her eyes on the ground. “No, I’m not upset with you guys. I love you, I just wish you would call when I wasn’t at school. It’s really weird to get pulled out of class because my mom called the principal to talk to me. Yes, I know you’re worried. No, Mom, I’m not mad. No, you don’t need to apologize. Yeah, I love you, too. I’ll see you and Dad next weekend.”

          She disconnected and sat down at one of the stone tables, dropping her forehead to the cold surface.

          “Ow,” she moaned to herself.

          Steve shifted awkwardly. “Good morning, Becca.”

          The girl popped up, her eyes wide. “Oh my god!”

          Steve held up his hands. “Sorry to startle you. Is everything okay?”

          “Peachy,” she sighed. “My parents are just being protective.”

          “Parents tend to do that,” Steve agreed.

          She smiled wryly. “In my recent experience, it’s less about being a parent and more about being an adult.”

          Steve had the good grace to flush. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, too.”

          Becca shrugged. “All is forgiven. What brings you to this lovely courtyard today?”

          Steve held up his sketchbook. “I’m planning a mural for that wall. Principal Fury asked me to.”

          She was nodding. “Right. He put me in charge of rounding up a group of volunteers to help paint it. Can I see what you have so far?”

          “Sure,” Steve stood and joined her at her table.

          Becca took the book from him and studied the drawing curiously, glancing up at the wall for a reference. “This is really good. Now I’m even more excited to get started.”

          “I’m going to start drawing the base on the wall this weekend. I think we’ll start painting the weekend after,” Steve mused.

          “If you need any help this weekend, let me know,” Becca offered.

          He smiled. “Thanks. I just might take you up on that.”

          Becca stood. “I should get back to class. Nice work on the mural plans, though. I can’t wait to see what it looks like on the wall.”

         

_Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man,_

_Though my mind could think I still was a mad man,_

_I hear the voices when I’m dreaming,_

_I can hear them say,_

_Carry on my wayward son,_

_There’ll be peace when you are done,_

_Lay your weary head to rest,_

_And don’t you cry no more._

“For your next project, I wish for you to draw out your family tree as far back as you are able. Bear in mind that I expect you to go back at least as far as your great-grandparents, and I wish to know as much about them as you can tell me. There are resources online, but I suggest that you first talk to your family members. You can learn more from them than you came from a computer program. You will have one week to complete the project, and I wish for it to be presented in a unique fashion. For those of you who will work on the school play, you may write up a skit perhaps to show your knowledge of your origins. The artists of the class could create a painting or a sculpture. I encourage you to be as creative as possible. If you have any questions, feel free to ask Ms. Lewis or myself,” Loki instructed.

          A bored looking boy in the back asked quietly. “Why does our family history matter to the class?”

          “It matter, Mr. Matthews, because those of you who are willing to look far enough back may find that you are in fact related to the very people we are studying,” Loki answered. “Now I do doubt you have anything in common with a member of royalty, Mr. Matthews, but perhaps if you look into your personal history you will find answers that explain why you are as infantile as you are. Inbreeding, perhaps.”

          A few students choked on their laughter.

          Matthews’ eyes narrowed. “Maybe you could show us an example. Have you ever made your own family tree, Mr. Laufeyson. His pale hands clenched at his side and he took a step toward the student. Darcy, sensing a wave of his loathing from across the room, leapt to her feet.

          “Out, Matthews!” she ordered.

          The boy feigned shock. “What did I do? I was just asking for some clarification.”

          “You were being an asshole,” Darcy corrected. “Go see Coulson. _Now_.”

          The teenager grumbled his way down to the front of the room and out the door, dragging his feet. Darcy shut the door behind him and turned back to the class.

          “Okay, everyone get started!” she instructed brightly.

          Loki nodded his thanks to her and retreated to his desk.

 

          Clint’s favorite part of the first semester was the Song of The Decade project he assigned. Every year, a few weeks into the semester, he gave his students the task of finding a song to represent a certain time period. His students then had to write a short story set in their time period that incorporated bits of the song. It was fun to watch them when they started writing. The majority of students ended up dancing in their seats while they wrote, their heads bobbing along with the rhythm of the song no one else could hear. But the highlight of the project was grading the papers. He would play the song while he read the story, and more often than not he would wind up laughing so hard he cried.

          He shuffled through the papers, putting them in chronological order by decade. Opening up his browser, he pulled out the papers from the eighties and got to work. The first couple of papers were decent, but the songs weren’t quite his style. He flipped to the third paper and grinned happily. He typed the song name into the browser quickly and turned up the volume as loud as he dared.

          “ _Shot through the heart! And you’re to blame! Darling, you give love a bad name! I play my part and you play you game! You give love a bad name!_ ” he howled, spinning around in his chair.

          He paused to do a cheesy air guitar move and someone cleared their throat behind him.

          “Um, Mr. Barton?”

          Clint spun around, hitting pause.

          “What’s up?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been interrupted making a fool of himself.

          The student put his paper down on the desk carefully. “I just wanted to drop this off since I wasn’t in class this morning.”

          “Oh, thanks. I’ll add it to the pile. Have a nice day,” Clint smiled.

          The kid scurried out of the room, glancing at him over his shoulder. Clint waited until he was gone before hitting play again.

 

          _Forget the herse ‘cause I’ll never die_

_I’ve got nine lives._

_Cat’s eyes,_

_Usin’ every one of them and runnin’ wild,_

_Yes, I’m back in black!_

“Are you Tony Stark?”

          Tony looked up at the tall man in the dark suit. “Who wants to know?”

          The man removed his sunglasses. “My name is Jacob Hamilton. I work for the Secretary of Defense and-”

          “Not interested,” Tony interrupted.

          The man faltered. “I beg your pardon?”

          “Not. Interested,” Tony repeated.

          “Sir, you have a duty to your country,” the man began.

          Tony crossed his arms. “No shit, Bond. I’ve been supplying my country with the best nonviolent technology known to man for years. I’m doing my part, and I will not be guilted into providing weapons for anyone, even if it is my country. My technology protects, it does not destroy, so whatever it is that the Secretary wants me to work on, I am _not interested_.”

          “Mr. Stark, if you would come with me, the Secretary would like to speak with you privately,” the man insisted.

          Tony’s eyes narrowed. “If the Secretary wants to speak with me, he can call Ms. Potts and she will set up a scheduled meeting. If he wants to meet with me off the books, then he wants to discuss something that should not be shared with the public. Since protection is something everyone supports, it would have to be the opposite of that, in which case I am not involving myself with any of it. Thank you for coming, see your way out, and never come back to this school.”

          The man hesitated. “We would appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Stark.”

          Tony walked over to his classroom door and began to close it. “Fuck you very much. Have a nice day.”  
         

          The last class of the day was over, and Loki had headed home, looking tired. Darcy had offered to stay to straighten up the room and to get some grading done. Loki had thanked her and wandered out of the room, his face sadder than she’d ever seen it before. She sat down at his desk and opened her laptop. She pulled up iTunes and a spreadsheet of the students’ grades. She started in on the stack of homework, her blue pen at the ready. Boredom set in pretty quickly. Grading papers was dull work. Darcy slapped her pen down and sat back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. A new song started and she couldn’t help singing along, spinning the chair in crazy circles. The chorus hit and she hopped out of the chair to channel her inner rockstar.

          “ _You’re the voice try and understand it! Make a noise and make it clear oh-oh-oh! We’re not gonna sit in silence! We’re not gonna live with fear oh-oh-oh! This time we know we all can stand together! We have the power to be powerful! Believe it, we can make it better!_ ” Darcy sang, the cheesy eighties moves coming to her as easily as breathing.

          At the end of the song she did a mock bow and was surprised when someone started clapping.

          “And I thought I was the only one who sang to eighties music alone in my classroom,” Clint teased.

          Darcy grinned. “Are you kidding me? Who _doesn’t_ do that?”

          Clint chuckled. “You want some help grading those papers?”

          “I would be forever in your debt,” she said dramatically.

         

          _Mjolnir my hammer I hold it strong,_

_Defender of Asgard where I belong,_

_On my chariot the wildest storms I’ll ride,_

_As thunder speaks and lightning strikes._

_And Mjolnir hits I’ll rule the night._

Thor hauled the heavy equipment from the football field into the weight room. He liked nothing more than to coach his young students, to watch them use their strength and bravery in play the way warriors of the old days would use them in a battle. Thor had a pride in his athletes much like the pride a king had in his mightiest warriors. To Thor, they were his warriors. He had trained them, had taught them how to use their skills to beat their peers in shows of wit and skill. No, it wasn’t a fight to the death, and they never meant to draw blood, but Thor saw the ferocity of the playing field and knew better than anyone that when you were playing, it _was_ a battle. You were defending your team, your school, your pride, and you would fight bitterly until the end.

          Thor was glad that there were no longer battles like in the days of kings and knights. He was glad that lives were not taken out of vengeance and spite every hour of every day. Now, the battles in life were much different. A sport was a battle. His team was an army. And he was their king, leading them into the fight, and he knew his boys would follow him to the ends of the Earth if he told them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters' songs:  
> Coulson: "Secret Agent Man"- Johnny Rivers  
> Peter: "Angel With A Shotgun"- The Cab  
> Bruce: "Behind Blue Eyes"- The Who  
> Fury: "Oh, Death"- Jen Titus  
> Natasha: "Black Widow"- Lita Ford  
> Steve: "American Pie"- Don McClean  
> Loki: "Carry On My Wayward Son"- Kansas (I am honestly sorry.)  
> Clint: "You Give Love A Bad Name"- Bon Jovi  
> Tony: "Back In Black"- AC/DC (But why didn't you do "Iron Man"? Because I will cry on everything you love look up the lyrics)  
> Darcy: "You're The Voice"- John Farnham (Thanks PPMKatie!)  
> Thor: "Thor"- Rebellion
> 
> I chose some of the songs for their literal meanings (see Natasha and Thor) and I did others the way I saw their characters both in the Marvel universe and my alternate universe (Darcy and Loki), plus a few for fun and a few as how the characters saw the character (ahem, Fury.) Anyway, that is how you make a musical chapter. I hope you liked it.


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